#and you will know them by the trail of dead
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It's here after many weeks, the 10k one-shot to celebrate 200 followers, but I suppose it's also to celebrate 300 followers as well! I meant for 300 to be a different celebration but that's okay! I'm sure I'll make something else for the next milestone!
Requested Tags: @dutifullylazybread @heytheresunflower @barbwillbrb
Rolan/GN!Tav
I Shouldn't Love You Like You Are Mine
Rolan has too much to do with so little time. Becoming the new Master of Ramazith's tower is proving more complicated than the wizard have ever thought. On top of it all, he has a deep infatuation with Tav, the hero who saved him and his family many times. He knows he has no chance with them, so he has settled on hopelessly pining and dreaming. One day, Tav rushes into the shop in a panic, and he could have never in his wildest fantasies expect what they request of him.
Word Count: 10k (Don't like Tumblr? Read on AO3 instead!)
Relevant Tags: Rolan's POV, Makeout Diversion, Smut, Lorroakan Bashing
Beta Reader: @el-tur-el (Thank you so much for your help T!!!)
NSFW under cut, Minors DNI
The air is stale, the scent of electricity still strong in the space that surrounds him, the taste of blood on his tongue from when his sharp teeth gashed the inside of his mouth. He's sore, bruised, burned, somewhat electrocuted by the way some of his muscles spasm still, but he's alive. Tav is long gone with their companions, and all that is left is him and a dead man.
When staring down at the body of his spine-broken master, Rolan is not sure of how he's supposed to feel. At first, he felt a genuine joy that he had not felt in many years. The adrenaline was still high at the time, and he proudly remarked that he would turn the tower inside out to find its secrets and share them with the world. He always has been ambitious, that is what got him this far, after all. Tav seems happy for him, and he ignores how it made his heart pound even more.
As he stands alone in the room, he questions whether he's supposed to feel something now that the joy has faded within the span of minutes. Some kind of liberation? Or perhaps his emotions are fighting each other in his psyche, making him feel everything and nothing all at once. The man who tortured him, who beat him like he was a misbehaving dog he didn't even want, who refused to teach him anything about wielding the weave, lays dead by his feet. He can't help but think that he looks pathetic now, face twisted in permanent fear even after death.
He spits on his face as a final 'fuck you'. He hopes he rots in the deepest pits of the hells that he was once dragged to.
Running his stiff hands down his face, he tries to think of what to do first. He has to get rid of this body, it can't stay here lying around. It will decay and stink more than Lorroakan already has. Grabbing a fistful of the dead man's hair, he drags his body towards the balcony. He could throw his body over the railing, it would be insult to injury, but no. He will do something much worse.
He digs into the stray backpack at the edge of the railing and takes out a disintegration scroll, one that he knew Lorroakan hid out here as a backup plan in case a fight doesn't go his way. Without thinking too much on it, he casts the spell on the body, and Lorroakan disappears into ash.
His former teacher was now erased, made into nothing, and no one will remember or miss him. A fate worse than death, in Rolan's opinion.
Almost numbly, he heads back inside the main room and tries to find cleaning supplies. There's so much blood on the floor, and it did not help he made a trail while dragging the body. He wishes Tav was still here so he could demand they clean their mess up, where he wouldn't notice his tail flicking back and forth in irritation. Would they bother listening to him? Maybe not, but at least they would be there, just a little longer. Just enough time for him to pine once more.
Lia is right, he's a very selfish creature.
A couple of mage hands bring a bucket of water and an unused mop over. He is taken aback, as he thought they would have disappeared in Lorroakan's absence. Although, these could have been Ramazith's, wherever that wizard is now. It doesn't matter, either way. They're his now.
He dunks the mop into the water and starts swiping across the floor, noticing how as he cleans, the white cloth of the strands turn red. There's so much godsdamned blood, it will take him forever to clear the mess. There's a lot of blood on him, too. Specks and splatters of blood paint his hands crimson, long dried onto his red skin. His mentor's blood. Lorroakan's blood.
He helped murder a man, today. He killed someone. His blood is on his hands as much as it may be on the Nightsong's. Or Tav's.
An unsuspected shudder runs through his body, and he feels sick. He chalks it up to his adrenaline rush going down too quickly, ignoring the feeling as he swipes the mop across the floor.
The hairs on his neck stand on end as he feels the crackle of the weave, warning him someone is coming through the portal. Part of him hopes it would be Tav; he wants to talk to them again. Maybe they can help him with the cleanup, laughing about how they left him here without realizing it. He would stumble over his words like a fool, trying to be impressive in his pathetic state.
It's not Tav that arrives though, he recognizes Lia's quick footsteps anywhere. She's always been the fastest between him and Cal; they both could never beat her in a race, but he swears he lets her win.
"Rolan!" She shouts, quickly coming up to him along with Cal, whose heavier footsteps are right behind hers. "Finally! You kept talking up this tower and now we get to see it-"
"Wait, is that blood?" Cal immediately interrupts, face falling.
He must look horrendous, Rolan realizes. He got so busy cleaning the floor that he didn't even bother washing up first. Based on when he looked at himself that morning, the bruises should still be very prominent. Shit.
Lia bristles when she cups his face, looking at his injuries. "What is this?"
The silence that falls between them is telling. He knows she figured it out a long time ago, but she wants to hear him say it. "I'm fine, Lia. He was a horrible mentor, but it's not my blood on the ground."
"Tav told us they helped you kick his ass." Cal comments, trying to lighten their moods, "Looks like you did just that if this blood isn't yours."
"You should've killed him earlier, idiot!" She spits.
"I know, I know." He mutters, trying to speak even as Lia turns his face around to see the damage. "It's good to see you two."
"We missed you, brother," Cal says, gently moving Lia away and hugging him. "Please don't do that again. It was hard, without you."
Rolan lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, hugging Cal tightly. Lia joins in quickly after. When was the last time they held each other like this? He doesn't remember.
It feels nice.
While it doesn't last long, it is more than satisfactory for him. They help him with the clean up, Lia helping with the blood while Cal sweeps the floor with a broom. They take on more workload than Rolan wants, but he can't argue with them when they practically plead for him to rest. To be honest, he's unbelievably sore, and maybe sitting down for a bit wouldn't hurt.
It only takes his body a few minutes until it's antsy again, so he joins them quickly after.
And then he never stops moving.
He cleans, reorganizes, and keeps walking despite his beaten body screaming at him to stop. He can't stop, because if he does, he knows he will not want to get back up. He'll crash, and he can't afford that.
At the end of it all, he enters Lorroakan's room without thinking and is frozen in place. He's been in here before, but never for good reasons, only beatings. Is this not his room now that the original master is gone? But it reeks of his old mentors stench. He scrunches his nose as he looks at all the personalized decorations. They're hideous, all of the colors too bright to stare at, and most not matching with each other in terms of palette. There's not even a real theme and it makes him irate.
He remembers being beaten on this very floor for messing up a verbal component.
Enraged, he marches up to the bed and tears off the sheets, making a point to dig his claws into them so they would rip. The pillows are next, tossing them across the room and onto the floor. He'll need to replace every damn thing if he wants to use this bed. To use this room.
Unwanted memories start to flood into his mind as he tears the place apart, most of them being on the ground, where Lorroakan said he belonged. Beaten, burned, electrocuted, sometimes poisoned. A place where he was at his most pathetic. He often has nightmares about those late nights, but some of the worst ones were Tav walking in and seeing him like that, utterly broken on floor. They would never see him the same, and he doesn't know whether he prefers them to be disgusted by him or to feel pity.
He's close to a breakdown, having trouble getting air into his lungs before Cal and Lia comes in. "Rolan?"
With a slow sigh, he turns to look at them. "Why are you two up?"
Lia's eyes trail around the destroyed room, seeming to note the claw marks on the bed sheets discarded on the carpet. "Couldn't sleep." She says simply, giving a knowing look.
"Can we sleep with you?" Cal asks, rubbing the back of his neck, "Like when we were kids? Just for one night."
His jaw moves to start a pointless argument, but then snaps shut. They're both not children anymore, they can sleep by themselves. He can sleep by himself. However, he cannot deny that he craves the affection it would bring. He hasn't been this long without them, no matter how much he complained about them being clingy before.
"All right." He says quietly after taking a deep breath, "Not in here, though. Come."
He quietly leads them to the comparatively bland room Lorroakan gave him in Sorcerous Sundries. It isn't terrible, but he realizes that the bed is way too small for the three of them. Thankfully, he had a remedy. He adjusts an enlarge spell and makes the bed wider, and they all settle down on top of it easily.
Lia makes him stay in the middle while she settles on his right side, Cal climbing over carefully to lay on his left. Honestly, he misses having them so close.
"Rolan?" Cal speaks up as Lia pulls up the blanket.
"Hm?"
"Can you make a light show for a little bit?"
Rolan can't help but smile, slowly closing his eyes before opening them up again and raising his hands. "Any requests?"
"Make it look like flowers blooming." Lia says instantly, draping an arm around his middle.
He huffs before murmuring a few words, a burst of colors appearing in the air. Like asked, they take form of flowers blooming, petals falling near them gently. It's gorgeous.
It fades after a minute though, the exhaustion finally catching up to him as he falls asleep. If Cal and Lia were bothered by it not lasting, they don’t say a word.
For the first time in years, his night is not plagued by nightmares.
---
As soon as he wakes, Rolan does not stop moving.
He's the new master of Ramazith's tower, there is so much to do with so little time. The Absolute's army is on its way and he needs to gather everything he can to protect his siblings, and to protect Tav.
Tav doesn't need protecting, he knows that all too well, but he needs to do something. Anything at all. He needs to prepare the arcane cannon, but there is so much research to be done. On top of it all, he wants to be able to focus on his studies, but then run a shop at the same time.
He barely eats the toasted bread he haphazardly made for himself, too distracted by the logs Lorroakan left behind. There's so many customers he needs to take care of, including deliveries. Maybe he could repurpose the animated armor to make the deliveries, but that could be shaky as they're unstable. Well, Lorroakan's magic was always weakly done...he could rework the sigils. He'll have to rework everything in this place, actually.
Gods, everything is such a fucking mess. He knows he needs help, but respectfully, he wants everything a certain way and his siblings won't be able to give him what he wants. Tav would be able to understand-
He stops reading, surprising himself with his thought. Tav? Why would he think Tav would know how he likes things? It's ridiculous. But he can imagine it, them carrying books around with whatever means and placing them in alphabetical order, then by subject. They would tease him about being so stingy with what books go where on the bookshelf.
And they would laugh. Not quite at him, but laugh nonetheless. It's such a perfect sound in his ears, and the thought of it makes the tip of his tail flick about. Damn it all!
He's been thinking about them a lot, unfortunately. Ever since the Shadow Cursed Lands, where they succeeded in saving his siblings where he could not, an infatuation began to settle in his heart. He had half the mind to possibly confess, but immediately pushed it out of his mind. There was no possible way they would feel the same. He's too bitter, too arrogant, and he saw the way they looked at Gale, someone who is much more accomplished than he is. It is a fondness that he never received once in his life, and certainly not by them. He was jealous of it, but jealousy is an ugly little trait to have, so he gave up on dwelling.
The feelings never went away, no matter how much he wants them too.
He wants to say more to them, especially after they saved his sorry tail again during the fight up in the tower. They left before he could, he was too dazed staring at the mess the Nightsong made of his former master. He regrets being too out of it to say anything proper.
What would he have told them anyways? He doubts anything worthwhile. Probably a weak apology and an even weaker attempt to express his feelings. In the end, they would reject him, no doubt. He messed up too many times, back in the Shadow Cursed Lands, even if they accepted his apology for lashing out.
So he continues on and tries to forget, organizing the scrolls at the front counter of Sorcerous Sundries. His nose scrunches in irritation at the disorganization of it all. Was Lorroakan always like this? They aren't even categorized in the right sections, its horrendous. Diabolical. A sin on this shop.
Frustration straining his brow, he lays them flat on the counter to decipher where they should go, ignoring the ache that sits subtly in his bones. He hasn't had the chance to heal himself, so the bruises are still very prominent. It doesn't matter, he can take care of it later.
He knows deep in his heart that later will never come.
In the middle of his thought, one of the front doors burst open. Someone runs in and...well, he doesn't recognize them, but he does see the illusion aura that surrounds their figure. He's about to yell at them about their audacity, but their disguise instantly fades when they close.
It's Tav, in all of their wonderful glory.
"Tav?" He asks dumbly as they rush the to the counter.
They urgently hop over the counter and grab his wrist, and he actively has to suppress a wince by the force. "I need help. Hurry!"
Without a chance of responding, they drag him along towards one of the rooms along the side of the shop. They practically throw him in there.
The door slam briefly echoes in the room, and he barely has time to react before the back of his thighs meet the desk inside. He hisses, the bruises still fresh, “What in the hells are you doing?”
“I need a diversion. I was disguised but the Flaming Fist followed me.” They state, starting to open up the front of their tunic to make a mess. “Let me kiss you.”
He hates how the tip of his tail stands at attention, and thank the gods they don’t notice it. “What.”
“We’re kissing. Now. Just-“ They groan, loosening their shirt more to make themselves look like a mess. “-I need to make it look like I was busy. Rolan, please?”
He should say no. Everything is screaming at him to say no. But he is a weak man, and he’s dreamed that he could have them in his arms. Or be in their arms, it didn’t matter to him.
As soon as he gives a nod, they grab the front of his collar and pull him in, kiss searing. It takes everything in his being not to moan at the contact, especially when they loosen his hair properly to make it fall past his ears. They don’t touch them, much to his relief.
Pretending to put on the same act as them, he presses into them enthusiastically, letting their tongue in when it pries at his teeth. He fell out of control so quickly that he doesn’t know how to pick himself back up. He had half the mind to let them have their way with him. Blood rushes down south when their hand slides up his clothed stomach, sweat beading on the back of his neck as the muscles tense and quiver. Their touch was firm, demanding, and the voice in his head screams at him to not deny them for a moment. How long has he been waiting for something like this to happen?
Before he could panic about his dick twitching in interest at their ministrations, the door flies open. It startles Tav enough to where they bite his lip on accident, making him jolt.
A group of Flaming Fist freeze at the door, taking in the scene before them.
Rolan reacts quickly with his typical sneer, sitting up straighter and trying to ignore Tav being between his legs. “Do you mind?”
“Well, sir-“ One starts but the other, a commander most likely, cuts them off.
“There’s a suspected thief that we believe ran into here.”
“So you decided to almost break down one of my doors?” He questions, making a show of magic to fix his hair up. Tav moves away with their arms crossed in front of their chest, looking annoyed.
“We apologize, sir, but this thief is-“
"Excuse me?" Tav states, putting on an offended face. "How dare you! I am not a thief! I've been in this shop for a while now, unless you are accusing me of stealing from here?"
Rolan comes in before the Commander starts to retort. “My partner, no, my associate could not have been a ‘thief’ as they have been here with me for the past fifteen minutes. And this chase happened how long ago now?”
One of the other Flaming Fists glances up at the clock in the room. “…Five minutes.“
The man to their right smacks them upside the head.
“And what did they look like?” Rolan continues.
“A pale half-orc, short hair with a blue blouse, but-“
He raises a hand to silence them, as if they were misbehaving children. “Then I believe we are done here, as my associate is wearing nothing of the sort and does not look like what you described. Now, unless you are here to buy something or set a donation for the rebuilding fund of the shop, you will kindly leave the premises of Sorcerous Sundries this instant. I expect a formal apology by the end of this week.”
In all honesty, it's funny how lost these Flaming Fist look. They seem unsure of what to do. As Tav scoffs and looks away, it seems as though they're trying not to laugh. He has to fight the smile that's teasing the corners of his mouth, staring at all the blustering Fists as they figure out what to do. Reluctantly, frustrated and angry, they exit out of the office and leave the shop with their tail in between their legs.
He brushes himself off when the heat dies down, finally able to compose himself. “What the hells were you doing? Are you mad?!”
They finally let out the laugh they were holding, straightening themselves out. “I blew up a Fireworks shop. An Absolute Cultist was running it! Who knew? To answer your second question, maybe a little bit. It's been a tough day.”
"And you thought you could just run in here while I was working? Making the Flaming Fist dirty my floors after I just had Cal clean it?!"
"I'm sorry Rolan, I panicked. I wasn't thinking." They say, seeming genuinely apologetic.
He could barely focus, mind still catching up with the events. Is he truly this easy? All they had to do was demand a kiss and he would follow them, like a lovesick puppy? He's ashamed of himself, and he didn't even notice them speaking again.
"Rolan?"
"What?"
"How are you?" They ask sincerely.
He straightens himself up and gets back into his usual facade. "I am well enough. This shop and the tower is a horrid mess, so I've already been spending time reorganizing the texts. Lorroakan barely knew his alphabet. They were not even organized by subject!"
They laugh at that, and gods, the sound makes his heart pound, but afterwards they frown at him, eyes scanning to his face. "You're still bruised."
"I haven't had the time to take care of them. There is too much to do."
They dig into their pack and hold out what he recognizes as a superior healing potion. "Here. If you're going to work, at least heal up. Did I hurt you earlier?"
He slowly takes it, perplexed, "It is nothing I can't handle."
"I'm sorry." They murmur.
"I appreciate your apology, and I forgive you." He states, uncorking the bottle and drinking down the potion.
Instantly, the deep set ache and soreness of his form fades to something less painful. Its like a warm hug, and he feels energized.
They give him a soft set smile as he places the bottle down on the desk. "You look a lot better."
Gods, if he could, he would crush the fluttering feeling the compliment gave him. "Excuse you, I always look better. Now, besides that whole mess that you created, was there anything else you needed from me?”
"I want to make purchases...and barter?" They squeak out.
He sighs heavily, opening the door back up for them, "Of course you do. All right, what do you have for trade then?"
They head out to the counter with a skip to their step. "I promise it's worth it!"
---
Tav ended up having plenty of things to trade, including heavy set armor, rings, and magic items they don't need anymore. Thankfully not all fortune is lost, as they give some coin for high level spell scrolls. A Globe of Invulnerability...how interesting. He knows they are out and about adventuring, but what would they need that kind of spell for? How do they even have the gold to afford it??
They were out the door before he can ask them, clearly in a hurry to get somewhere. "Thank you Rolan!"
A little defeated, he continues on with the rest of his day. Organizing, organizing, and even more organizing. This place is such a shit show, it will take him ages before everything is how he wants it to be. Cal always teased him about having his socks color coded in his drawers.
He plops onto a fresh bed at the end of the day. This was Lorroakan's bed, but Cal and Lia helped him out with cleaning the room. New mattress, new sheets, new blankets, and even new pillows. They tore down the hideous tapestries and paintings he had, and he plans to change the wall into a new color. He still needs to personalize the room to how he likes, but now it was his. No trace of Lorroakan is found here. He idly wonders how Tav decorated their room, or if they have a home to go back to. They're still a mystery to him.
As he lays there, staring at the patterned ceiling, he finds it strange he has a room to himself. It's nice, and he's never had more privacy than now. Sometimes Lorroakan entered in his room at odd hours to start a lesson at his leisure. If he wasn't a light sleeper before, he is now due to the man's random visits. Now here he is, laying his bed, with his nights uninterrupted for the most part.
He has privacy.
...He’s pent up, isn’t he?
Through all the beatings and stress, he never took time to himself and get off. He was worried about getting caught by his mentor. On top of it all, he was too exhausted and hurt to even do much for himself, some nights barely having energy to bathe. But now…
With a sigh, he summons a mage hand to grab a book for him. When was the last time he read a smut book? Half a year, maybe more? Even then, he wouldn’t indulge too much as he never had a lot of privacy. With this large bedroom, the walls being silenced, and the time he now has, he will indulge for a little bit. For one night.
As he reads, there’s not much to go off. This one is poorly written, but he can at least give himself an idea. His mind sketches out a neutral form, no identifying…parts, yet. He’s indecisive, but he’s sure he’ll come up with someone satisfactory for the night.
Usually, his fantasies contain anonymous people with no face, or they wear a mask. It’s less embarrassing than thinking of someone directly. Sometimes they take him from behind, pinning the back of his neck to a table while they rail into him. Others he has someone under him, thrusting into them and littering bites on their neck.
For now, he imagines a person of no specific gender yet, holding him close in a crushing grip and devouring his mouth. It leaves him no room to breathe as he’s pinned to the wall, their thigh between his legs pressing up against his growing erection. Heat gathers south embarrassingly quickly, the tent of his pants tightening. What is Tav like in bed?
As soon as that question pops into his head, the blank person he tried to fantasize about turns into Tav. It shocks him how vivid it is, and he immediately sits up, book falling flat on the mattress as he drops it. No no no, absolutely not. They’re a friend.
A friend who pulled him in by the collar to kissed him with reckless abandon. A friend that was ready to pin him down on his desk. A friend who stroked a finger along his jaw to help him relax into their mouth.
Hells.
His fingers trail down his stomach and into his trousers, taking himself in hand. What’s the harm of indulging in this? They kissed, after all. All of their wonderful features are fresh in his mind. As he teases the underside of his shaft, he imagined it was their hand instead of his own. Precum was already beading at the tip, and he uses it to slick up his cock. He still feels their hands on him, pressing and demanding. He wonders what they would’ve done if they had more time. Are they gentle or rough when they stroke? He’s not sure whether he prefers one or the other yet.
None of this would happen, they have many suitors at their disposal. But damn it all, he could dream that they chose him, in the end.
Gods.
He covers his mouth tightly with his free hand, almost painfully as he thrusts up into his other one. This room is covered in silencing sigils, it’s not like anyone would hear him from the outside, but even he doesn’t want to hear his shameful sounds.
He feverishly switches to a different fantasy, this one containing Tav once more, though this time he isn’t complaining.
They’re both deep in the woods, away from the Tiefling party. They saved them all from the goblins, they deserved some compensation, did they not? Tav is pressed against his back, one hand putting two fingers in his mouth, rolling the muscle of his tongue between them while the other jacks him off. He’s utterly helpless, Tav taking control of his pleasure for him in the best ways as he helplessly grips the bark of a tree. They would tell him how good he was, how much they wanted him, how lovely his moans were. That he was handsome, strong, and worthy.
That they loved him-
Strings of white decorate his stomach, his climax coming with a stuttered gasp. It came more quickly than he thought it would, and his body spasms with how intense it is. The cry that climbs up his throat stops short by his hand.
He massages himself through it, feeling dazed and utterly pathetic. How dare he think about Tav in this way, as if they were an object for his pleasure? They’re not his, and he’s not theirs, no matter how much he wants to be. What would they say if they saw him like this, desperate and lustful even after his orgasm?
Gods, he wants them so badly, and he knows he can never have them.
Catching his breath, he feels disgusting. Filthy. He shouldn't think of them at all, he hasn't earned that right to them. It's pitiful.
To remedy his sin, he gets out of his bed and heads to the washroom. It's grand in comparison to his lowly basin in the shop, and he's unsure where to start now that he has access to it. Firstly, he takes out a Create Water spell scroll and casts it, filling the entire tub with water. He then modifies the Produce Flame spell to heat up the water. That will do for now, he'll figure out how to make the process a lot quicker later.
He takes off his soiled nightwear, stepping into the water with a slight hiss. All right, maybe he made it a little too hot, but it's nothing he can't handle. Lorroakan has burned him worse. As soon as he gets to the hip line, he pours lavender oil into the steaming water and sinks in completely. He's heard of the scent being beneficial for sleep, mostly from Tav. He wonders if they are an herbalist- no, no, he isn't supposed to be thinking about them.
Emptying his mind is proving harder than he thought. No thanks to his previous transgression, Tav's face plagued him. Questions pop up without him wanting them to: how does Tav look when flustered? Are they experienced with intimacy? Do they like pain? Are they sweet? What is their perfect date? How do they show their love-
He dunks himself fully into the water before the thought could finish, and he feels the sting of the hot water against his face as he sits under the surface. Finally, his mind is silent, so he holds his breath as long as he could. It's oddly soothing, just being alone under the water. A perfect escape to everything around him. He may just have to do this more often.
Unfortunately, he has not done any training to hold his breath, so he has to come up for air within thirty seconds. Perhaps he should practice, but that's for another time.
Now that his hair was thoroughly wet, he begins washing and conditioning his hair, giving himself a scalp massage while he was at it. He didn't trust the mage hands to do it for him. They were floating in the corner, waiting for a command. Can mage hands pout? It feels as though that's exactly what they're doing. Why are they so eager to help anyways? He should dismiss them when he has the time.
After dunking under the water again to wash out all the products, he exits the bath carefully, using Prestidigitation to instantly dry himself. Ah, what would he do if he didn't have that spell on hand? It is incredibly convenient. Can Tav use magic for mundane tasks?
He pauses as he slides on a robe. Gods damn it, it's happening again! That didn't last too fucking long, now did it?
With a groan, he marches back into the bedroom and towards the balcony, pushing the doors open. The night hair hits him immediately, sending a brief chill through him before calming. With a heavy sigh, he goes to the railing and leans against it, watching the silent city of Baldur's Gate. The lanterns have long burned out, and the stars are blooming above him, but he can't relax. He's desperate for Tav, and it's pitiful.
Pressing his forehead on the cold stone, he realizes what a miserable, selfish, wretched creature he is. After all of those things, he's somehow still hopeful. Why else would they kiss him like that? Is he reading too much into this?
Though, perhaps, instead of dwelling on unwanted thoughts, he should just let them go. Lia always did say he thinks too much. Cal mentioned it could be quite damaging on one's psyche.
So he lets the thoughts flow. All of the domestic ones and all of the lustful ones, too. He flickers through memories of he and Tav's interactions, thinking of what could have been and where he went wrong. The shouting, the aggression, the drinking. Gods, the drinking. He hasn't touched wine in a while because of it.
Then he lets it all go.
He raises his head, taking a deep, long breath of the fresh night air. He's in Baldur's Gate. They all made it. The Absolute's army is about to knock on their door, but just for tonight, at least in this moment, he's calm. He's okay.
Maybe he'll be okay later, too.
After an hour, he makes it to his bed and lulls himself to sleep, pulling up the thickest parts of the blanket to hold. It manages to lull him to sleep. A success, in Rolan's tired mind.
There's so much to do with so little time.
---
A tenday has passed and Tav has not returned.
It's for the best that they don't come, as they continuously plague Rolan's mind. He can't stop thinking about them, no matter how much he distracts himself. Most of them are lustful and depraved, some of which make him feel utterly ashamed. He has no right to think of them in this way.
Though, it's the other thoughts that confuse him the most.
They're domestically blissful. He imagines waking up in bed with them, nuzzling into their hair as they convince him to stay a few more moments. He imagines dates, lacing his fingers through theirs while telling them how stunning they are. He imagines it's their body that he pulls close late at night, and not a spare pillow he squeezes to his chest.
He hates these thoughts more than most, as it makes him silently grieve what could've been if he weren't such an arrogant prick. What if he was nicer to them when they first met? Would they have approached him a third time at the party and invite him to their tent? Embarrassingly, he's been losing more sleep than usual over the what if's, and it's making him sloppy with his work. Papers were scattered, he keeps losing his books, and ink stains have been appearing on his robes more and more lately. Unacceptable.
Is he truly this pathetic, losing sleep over domestic thoughts with someone unreachable? Is he that lonely? Does he crave company that badly? It is a wizard's curse, surely.
He thought he got over this, but it seems he needs more than one night to 'let go' of them. Damn it all, why can't this be easier?
He shakes his head, regaining his focus of the task at hand. Rearranging the scrolls once more, he stands onto his feet again and brushes the dust off of his robe. He proudly places his hands on his hips. Finally, after so many days, he has the counter exactly how he wants it. Everything is organized, not a speck of dust in sight, all of it is beautifully-
One of the doors slam open again by a gust of wind, and rage fills him to the core. Why, oh why are the gods so against him? Now there's dirt of the floor, he just made Krank sweep it all out!
The anger disappears instantaneously when he sees Tav rush through the door, sweat beading on their brow and their face flushes from exertion. Extremely similar to how they appeared last time-
Oh no.
As they rush past the counter to the same room they both in before, he starts following them without thinking. What in the hells was he doing?! This can only lead to something terrible for him, even if Tav would be none the wiser. Why does he torture himself like this? He finally has everything he could ever want, yet he greedy for more. For the one thing he can never hope to have.
But they need him, and he could never deny them.
He quickly enters the room after them, shutting the door on his way in. Thankfully this room is more presentable this time around, but he doubts Tav will notice it. They have never been one to look at the finer details. At least from what he has seen, it's not as if he spent much time around them. That thought makes jealousy swell in his chest.
"I need help again." Tav states, rustling up their clothes.
"I can see that," He sasses, but Tav is already pushing off the mantle that sits on his shoulders before pulling him into a kiss, hand fisting the front of his robes.
What has he done to deserve this punishment? Are the Gods testing him by dangling his one desire in front of him? They should know he's too weak to resist their touch.
He gasps into their mouth when they pin him to the wall, free hand grasping the back of his thigh. They easily put their leg in between his, which puts him in a daze. Is this truly an act if they would go this far, or are they testing his boundaries? The worst part about this is he never wants them to stop. He wants them to keep going and reduce him to a pitiful, breathless mess.
They're already succeeding in that, it seems.
When he feels them try to pry his teeth open, he lets them, tangling his tongue with theirs. The noise is so lewd in his ear, a blush immediately rising to his face at the intimacy of it all. He thought about this situation constantly, both through the actual memory and then to his fantasies. Though, fantasy is nothing compared to their real hand tracing the skin of his exposed neck, mapping out the dips and curves of his adam's apple. Images flash through his mind of them choking him, not to hurt, but to claim. He honesty hopes they would do so, but alas, their hand trails up to cup his jaw instead.
This action only made him more flustered, and while he doesn't understand why, he accepts it all the same and leans into their hand. No one has ever touched his face like this in many, many years. Usually it was hit or slapped, no thanks to his teacher. Even when their touch is as gentle as a dove, he can't help but flinch when their thumb strokes along his cheekbone. They pull away from the kiss, catching their breath with a question on the tip of their tongue.
As if the world is playing a joke, those same Flaming Fists burst the door open. They look surprised once again.
"Again?!" He shouts at them, bristling and baring his teeth.
"Do you fucking mind?" Tav yells after, giving them a hard-earned glare.
The Flaming Fists do not bother arguing again, turning heel and leaving the shop without another word. They look foolish, doing their walk of shame. At least they were quick about it, Rolan did not feel like giving them another lecture.
"How do you do, Rolan?" They tease, a hand still fisting his sleeve.
It is a miracle how he keeps his composure. "Well enough, I suppose. Now, as I said earlier, again?"
"There's a perfectly good explanation."
"Then?"
"They were assholes so I stole their money."
"I'm inclined to agree. They are quite intrusive in their searches. Though, must have you lead them here again? I just had Krank clean the floors of the shop from bottom to top!" He complains, running a hand down his face as he stabilizes his footing, "Now I'll have to command him to do it all over again. At least the bottom part."
"I know, I'm sorry to do this to you again. I can make it up to you!" The say quickly before taking a pause. "Wait, you reanimated Krank?"
"Despite being Lorroakan's, he still had his uses." He drawls, suddenly feeling trapped in their space. "Clearly weaponry is not the armors calling, so I have him clean the floors in the morning and at night. There hasn't been any complaints."
"It's animated armor, Rolan. It can't complain."
"I meant complaints from the customers, you absolute dunce!" He snaps and immediately regrets it, but Tav bursts out in a fit of laughter at his insult.
Never has he understood what was so funny about them being insulted. Does he look like a fool doing so? Are they laughing at him? He should be angry over it but he most likely deserves it.
"Well, I feel terrible for dragging you in here twice," They giggle, wiping a stray tear from their eye. "So I want to make it up to you."
"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" He challenges.
"Well, we already got the first part of it started, if you're interested." They tease, voice low.
Oh gods.
"We could take it further. I can feel your little friend down there, and I'm more than happy to help." They murmur in his ear.
A cold sweat hits him in that instant. This is his worst nightmare. He wants it, gods does he want it so badly, but if he accepts it there will be no turning back for him.
They attempt to cup his cheek but he turns his face away, gently pushing them.
“Rolan?”
“I can’t do this.” He says, unable to look them in the eye, but he feels the way they tense.
Before they can start apologizing, he continues, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the Shadow-Cursed Lands, I think. I adore many things about you. But you keep holding me like this, kissing me, and it's starting to make me believe that there will be more than this, one day. When The Absolute is gone, and Baldur's Gate is safe, you would do me the honor of considering me as a...companion."
"Oh, Rolan..."
"I refuse to be a side piece, someone who will be at your beckon call whenever you're bored. You’re tugging at my heart as if it’s your plaything, and while I know you have not done this on purpose, I can't handle it anymore."
He exhales sharply, tilting his face up when he feels tears sting his eyes. "Please, do not torture me like this and just go. Leave."
When he’s met with silence, he swallows and blinks away the wetness of his eyes. He knew that he never had a chance, and that their affections were never real. How could his savior ever look at him like he looked at them? But that diversion of theirs was so wonderful, and for at least a temporary moment, he felt wanted. Desired.
Loved.
He knew he couldn’t continue. It is selfish of him and he would’ve been setting himself up for heartbreak.
Tav leans in close, eyes tender as they tilt his chin back down. “Rolan…I’ve been a fool. I thought I was being obvious.”
He finally can look at them in the eye. “What?”
They can't help but chuckle, but it is a good natured one, “I’m in love with you too, idiot. Why do you think I would keep seeing you in this way?” They ask, tucking some hair behind his ear. “I'm so sorry, I should have been more forward with you. I never meant to hurt your heart like this, you mean too much to me."
He must be dreaming, he has to be, but he can feel the of their body pressing against him. They want him too, and it makes his heart want to burst out of his ribcage. He isn't aware of the blush that rises in his face at their confession, making his already red skin grow crimson.
They carefully cup his face again, pressing their forehead against his, being mindful of his horns. "I'm sorry Rolan, truly. Could you ever forgive me?"
His adam's apple bobs with his swallow, but his face remains a stern look. "...Your apology seems genuine, and I forgive you."
"Well good, I was worried that I just fucked up my chance." They huff with a smile, gently pinning him against the wall once more. "Now, would you like me to try this again and kiss you?”
“Please.” He whispers instantly, tail coiling around their leg.
It was unclear who pulled in first, but what mattered is their hands were all over each other as they kiss fiercely. He felt one of their hands move back and grip the base of his tail. A pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, pleasure shooting up his spine. Tav happily nips his bottom lip in response before pulling away. “I want to see your bedroom, Rolan. Now.”
"As you wish." He responds breathlessly.
Using Dimension Door, he teleports the both of them to the top of the stairs of Sorcerous Sundries, pulling them through the portal and into the tower. This is a totally inappropriate use of one of his higher level spells, but his mind is in a sexually charged place. He'll chastise himself for it later.
His grip on their hand is tight, sweat gathering there as he teleports them again to the bedroom. It isn't customized to his liking quite yet, but it at least has the colors he wants. Deeper blues mixed with other calming colors to help him sleep. He doubts Tav is admiring the features with the way they pull him onto the mattress.
When they both settle in the bed, Tav quickly gets undressed, unclipping the armor and ripping off their under clothes in one fell swoop. Whatever he though their body looked like in his dreams, the real thing is so much better. Any little scar or texture change, he either wants to trace with his fingers or with his tongue. As they lay back and spread their legs, he reaches for them.
They gently smack his hand away when he tries to touch their chest, smirking. “No. You will sit back all pretty and watch.”
His mouth goes dry, surprised at the sudden command, but would he truly be a student of the Weave if he did not know how to listen to directions? He does as told, sitting back on his feet.
"Do you have oil in here?" They question.
"Right side, top drawer."
They crawl over and grab it, settling back into position as they drizzle the product onto their fingers. They make a show of it, too, playing with the substance between their fingers before their hand trails down in between their legs, locking eyes with Rolan.
He swallows as he watches them open themselves up, all for him. It sends his mind reeling with lust, and he’s still not allowed to touch. Torture, is what it is. They have him exactly where they want him, and he is not complaining one bit. Not in his wildest imagination could he have though of this scenario. It's incredible. They're incredible.
As they go on languidly slow, he starts feeling hot all over. His clothes feel too suffocating around his body, his trousers unbelievably tight. It takes everything in him not to palm his growing erection, biting a lip to stifle a small moan that threatens to escape his throat.
“I want to watch you take all those layers off, Rolan. It’s not fair if I’m the only one naked.” They demand, hooking their fingers inside of themselves and groaning.
He responds by finally taking off that mantle that sets heavy on his shoulders. They watch him unblinking as he instantly gets his robes off, seeing the tent in his smalls that expresses his want. It looks painful. He throws the robes, shoes, and smalls off somewhere in the room, his cock now in the cold air, leaking.
They smirk at the sight, now curling three fingers in with a long winded moan. “Gods, I can’t wait to have you in me. I bet you feel so good, look at that…”
Have they always been this good with their words? They always have in his pathetic fantasies, but the real thing makes him twitch in need. He wants to touch them, feel their skin against his in a blaze of pleasure.
Alas, he has to wait.
Finally, they take their fingers out of themselves and sit back up. “I’m ready for you.”
“I want to touch you, Tav.” He admits, fingers twitching on the top of his thighs.
They crawl over to him and sit in his lap, breathing hard as they wrap their arms around his shoulders. “You may.”
He takes some small amount of comfort in that they’re as hot and bothered as he is, watching their flushed face before they crash their lips into his own.
He whines into their mouth, his cock trapped in between their stomachs. The friction is positively divine and he already thinks he may be close with the way their fingers trace the ridges on his back. They're mapping them out, pressing against the wing impressions on his shoulder blades and then trailing them down his spine. As soon as they reach the base of his tail, they tug on it once more.
A gasp shudders out of him when they grind against him. “Tav, if you keep doing that, I won’t last much longer.”
They hum in approval, sucking a hickey into the base of his throat. “What if I promise to make you come again?”
“Tav, please—”
“Okay okay.” They relent, moving back a little to give him some breathing room.
They stay in his lap as they pull him in for another kiss, and he joyfully obliges. Their tongues dance as he gropes their chest, mostly wanting to feel the unique textures of their skin. They’re perfect, to him. He wishes they were some sort of god, because at least then he would have an explanation for his need towards them. This unrelenting desire that he has pleaded for every night when he dreamt of them.
He has so many dreams, one that wake him in a sweat and painfully hard in his trousers. He made a theory that indulging would help the process of forgetting his desires, but it seems as though his hypothesis was wrong. Dead wrong. His dreams of them only became more vivid, some tricking him into thinking it was real. He mourned when he woke up those mornings, wondering why the Gods were torturing him with their image, their body, their face, their laugh.
Hells, he hopes he's not dreaming right now, they feel too real. He can feel them biting and tugging his lower lip, so he concludes that they were, in fact, here with him. Making him feel so much better than his wildest fantasies. Their nails bite into the back of his neck as they briefly deepen the kiss, before pulling themselves away, a string of saliva connecting them. For at least a moment, he catches his breath.
With a solid push to his chest, he falls back onto the bed with a soft thump. He pushes himself back up onto his elbows quickly, breathing harsh. At first, he’s worried he screwed something up. Did his nails hurt their skin? He should have blunt them this morning. But then they straddle his waist and take hold of his drooling hard-on, ready to sink onto him. “Hold still.”
As they lower themselves, stars burst behind his eyes as he takes them fully, their walls squeezing around him so deliciously. He bites back a moan that tries to work its way up his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he manages to hold himself together when they seat themselves onto him.
“Gods, you feel so fucking good Rolan.” They moan, clenching briefly around him until they finally relax. They do a test grind, and he knows he's hitting all the right places within them with the way their eyes flutter.
“So do you.” He says breathlessly, a light sheen of sweat already decorating his skin, pupils blown wide as his tail flicks about. The appendage instinctively reaches for something to hold onto. Anything at all. In the end, he settles with wrapping his tail around their waist, keeping himself grounded. They smile down at him when they feel it squeeze them.
He tries to reach for for their sides shakily, but they are more put together in this moment, and much faster. They take his hands, lacing their fingers through his, and pin them each besides his head. He’s only met with a grin before they start riding him with reckless abandon, gripping his hands unbelievably tight.
A groan that trails off into a whimper escapes his throat, hips subconsciously thrusting up into their tight heat. It felt positively divine feeling their walls clench around him, purposely teasing. They’re grinning, even when they toss their head back and moan. He squeezes their hands for dear life, already losing himself as their skin meets his. “Ah— Tav—“
“That’s it baby, I want to hear you.” They pant, leaning down and kissing him soundly. He lets their tongue pry his lips with ease, begging for a taste.
“I won’t last if— gods—“ he cries against their mouth, toes curling in the sheets.
“I don’t care, let me feel you. I want it.”
He curses when they clench around him again, clearly wanting to milk him dry, but he manages to stave his orgasm off. At least for a little bit. This felt so fucking good, he never wants it to end. But with the way they roll their hips, he’s not going to last. He wishes he could have last longer, giving them their pleasure the way they deserve after all of their hardship. They saved him, saved his siblings, saved the tieflings. Twice. Then they saved him for a third time. They did not have to, they could've walked away and let him lay with his poor choices. They didn't, and he's never seen them more angry than when they saw his bruised face.
His stomach suddenly tightens, giving him that impending warning he knows all too well in recent days. “C—Close, I’m close—“ he rasps.
“Me too. Fuck, you feel so good love.” They murmur thoughtlessly.
That nickname teeters him over the edge, and Rolan came with a cry in his throat. Tav was not far behind, fluttering around him as they came as well.
They breathe hard, resting on top of him and letting go of his hands. They instead use them to hold his heated face and kiss him gently. With his hands free, he wraps his arms around their back to pull them closer. He’s spent, exhausted, but he’s never felt more content as he kisses them.
Before they both could feel uncomfortable, he murmurs the words of prestidigitation and cleans them up as they rise off of his softening cock. They plop next to him on the bed, smiling tiredly.
“You were amazing.”
He laughs at that, wiping sweat off of his face. “I should be saying that to you.”
“Then we’re both amazing, hm?” They tease, scooting closer to his side. "Where did you learn how to fuck like that?"
"Must you be so vulgar?" He exasperates with a groan, making them laugh, "But if you must know, I have done extensive research on the subject."
"Ooooh research! What, did you study anatomy books?"
He groans, covering his face with his hands.
"Wait a minute, you have a smut collection?! This I have to see."
"Absolutely not!" He shouts, his face, neck, and ears now a deep crimson.
They burst out laughing, and as much as he wants to chastise them for it, he ends up laughing with them. He's never felt so light before now, as if he's finally feeling relief for all the trouble he's been through.
Gods, he's truly in love with them, isn't he?
"I can go for a round two, if you're up for it." They say after calming down their laughter.
He snickers at that, pecking heir forehead. "As much as that sounds wonderful, you've exhausted me for the day."
"Then how about some cuddling? Karlach always said I give great hugs."
He hums, pecking their cheek next as they wrap their arms around him. "I think I would like that, very much."
Letting out a deep rooted sigh, he feel all the tension in his body finally leave him. He should be disgusted by all the sweat gathered around them in the aftermath of their activities, but in this moment, he wouldn't have it any other way. There's time to complain about it later. Perhaps he can show them the bath he now uses. Would they be impressed by it? It certainly is better than whatever they have going on in the Elfsong Tavern. He wants to do everything to impress them, make himself worth their while even with the chaos that is their lives. But for now, he's calm.
For the first time, Rolan felt truly free.
"Does Krank know how to clean bed sheets?"
Snorting, he looks at them again. "I haven't made him try. He's decent at mopping and sweeping...somewhat. Why?"
"Just curious. It's cute how you just have a little servant now, cleaning the place."
"Krank is not a servant, he is an employee of my establishment."
"You don't pay him!"
"That is not the point! He works, does he not?"
They laugh, pressing their forehead against his. "Fine, fine, but why not make him clean your room, including the sheets?"
"He will mess them up! I know how to properly smooth it out and make this room look highly presentable."
"Oh, I'm sure you do...anyways, do you have a bath in here? I stink and feel sweaty."
He barks out a laugh, reluctantly getting out of their arms and shuffling off the bed. "I do, it's in the next room over."
When he offers his hand to them, they happily take it as he leads them to the side room. The large bath presents itself, though it is empty right now. He should figure out a way for it to be ready automatically in any time of the day, but he'll work out the kinks later. He wants to show them that his fingers have talent in ways they wouldn't comprehend. All of it in the form of a heavenly scalp massage.
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Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 7
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS
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All OC Characters belong to me
Prequel (All Falls Down)
Series Masterlist
“Soo.” Elijah trailed off as he and Kiyana were driving to the restaurant. “That was your ex-husband huh?”
“Yeah.” She said “I’m so sorry about that..” She apologized again. “He wasn’t supposed to be there.” she paused. “Him or his cousin.” Elijah laughed.
“It’s no big deal. Trust me. I’ve dealt with worse from my ex-wife. Her brothers are still on my ass to this day.” He chuckled again.
“Oh you were married?” Kiyana asked, perplexed because he never mentioned it.
“Is that a problem?” Now Elijah was confused. Not even 10 minutes ago, he thought he was about to have a melee with her ex husband and his cousin. He cut his eyes over to her before looking back at the road when she didn’t answer. “Ki?”
“No, it’s not a problem.” She shrugged. “I just thought you would mention it by now.” She paused, and turned her head to look at him. “It’s not a big deal though.”
“You sure?” Elijah asked as he pulled up to a red light, now turning his full attention to her. “I don’t wanna start us off on the wrong foot.”
“Ohh, there’s an us?” She teased with a smile, feeling her cheeks heat up.
“There’s definitely an us. I normally have a rule that I don’t date coworkers but, it’s just something about you Kiyana.” There goes them butterflies again. She thought as their faces inched closer. He cupped her jaw and Kiyana felt her heart rate spike. Just as their lips were about to connect, the car behind them honked causing the both of them to jump away from each other.
“Fuck!” Josh cursed as he watched Kiyana get into Elijah’s car and drive off. This was exactly what he was afraid of. He stomped past Joe and into his former home. “Samara!” He called out, softly though, still mindful of his sleeping children. “Mara?!” He called out again, rolling his eyes as she strolled out of the kitchen munching on his children’s Doritos.
“What?”
“What restaurant did they go to?” He huffed when she shrugged and pushed past him to sit on the couch. “Samara ,please.” Josh begged. “I know I fucked up by doin' what I did. But shit, I can’t just give up and go let her fall in love with someone else. I won’t be able to take it. So please, just tell me what restaurant they went to.”
Samara felt her hatred for Josh slip away. While they were never close she still considered him a friend and one thing about Samara was that she hated seeing her friends hurting. “Fine.” She sighed out. “But you have to answer my question first.” Josh nodded immediately.
“Aight, whatever you wanna know.”
“Why did you do it? What made you cheat on Kiyana?” oh Josh gulped. “Josh?”
“I don’t know. “ He said and Samara sucked her teeth. “I- we were arguing about her not listening to the doctor about not stressing. I just wanted her and Kairo to be okay.” He walked over and sat down on the couch next to her and put his head in his hands. “You know the same thing happened when she was pregnant with Kehlani.” Neither one of them heard Joe as she entered the house and stood right by the entrance to the living room, listening to their conversation. “Her auntie died and..” He blew out a breath. “She wouldn’t relax, she wouldn’t just stop and not stress. I already have one dead kid. I didn’t want another.”
Samara nodded, remembering how Kiyana blamed herself for years for the death of Kehlani. “So that’s why you cheated?” Josh scoffed and shook his head.
“Hell no. I just- I wanted to vent. Everyone around me kept talking about how Kiyana felt and..” He paused and sniffled, wiping his eyes. “I- it’s selfish but damn, Kenneth was like a dad to me too. When Kish and my mom were going through it Ken and Ms Imani welcomed me with open arms. I just wanted to vent to someone who wouldn’t say oh well it’s Kiyana’s dad. And Shanté was there at the right time. It wasn’t my intention to start the affair, I just wanted someone to talk to and things went too far.”
Joe let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He couldn’t intervene with Josh and Kiyana nomore. He had already done enough damage by sleeping with Kiyana and truth be told, Josh was his favorite cousin and even if Joe thought that Kiyana should be with him, he didn’t want to hurt his cousin more than he already did.
“The Grand Marlin.” Samara said after a minute of silence between her and Josh. “He took her to The Grand Marlin.”
Josh pulled Samara in for a hug and thanked her. “Do not fuck this up again Joshua. I swear on my life I will make sure she fucks every single one of your family members.” Josh sucked his teeth and pushed her away from him.
“Damn Samara.” She shrugged and pointed towards the front door.
“Go, before she falls in love with him or something.” Josh nodded and rushed towards the front door, only to be stopped by Joe blocking it.
“Uce come-on. Don’t do this to me right now. You proved your point already.” Joe shook his head and put his hands up defensively.
“I just wanted to apologize to you Josh. You my family and I should have never took it there with your wife.” Josh sucked his teeth.
“You don’t mean that shit. What you want me to go get my wife back so you can fuck her again.” Josh felt the urge to pummel Joe so he took a deep breath. “ Getcho’ big ass out my way Joseph.”
“Josh, this is the most serious I've been with you in years. I’m sorry.” Josh narrowed his eyes at Joe. Not believing him in the slightest. But he couldn’t worry about Joe right now, right now he needed to get to Kiyana.
“Thank you for bringing me here.” Kiyana smiled over at Elijah as he pulled out her chair for her. “I’ve never been here before.”
“No problem Ms. Jackson. I plan to give you a lot of first time experiences” He winked back as the waiter came over and asked for their drink orders.
Elijah kept a smile on Kiyana’s face all throughout dinner. And if Kiyana was being honest, this was the best date she had been on in years.
Her weekly ‘dates’ with Josh were just them going out to dinner, nothing special or spectacular. He stopped making her feel special a long time ago and she had just gone with the flow because she loved him.
“Hey that’s your ex-husband right?” Elijah’s voice broke her out of her thoughts and she turned her head in the direction he was pointing to see Josh arguing with the maitre’d and pointing in her direction.
“Oh my god.” She muttered, covering her face with her hands. “This is so embarrassing. Just give me two minutes please.” She said, biting her lip as she stood from the table and walked over to where Josh was making an ass out of himself.
“All you had to do was let me through dickhead.” He sneered at the man, who was only trying to do his job.
“Joshua.” Kiyana hissed, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him outside of the restaurant. “What are you doing?!”
“Tryna stop you from making a mistake. I’m so fucking sorry Key.” He whispered, cupping her face in his hands. “About everything. About Shanté.” He swallowed hard when he saw her flinch at Shanté’s name. “About not sticking up for you at J’s party. About everything.” He repeated and Kiyana started shaking her head.
“No.” She laughed as tears started to well up in her eyes. “You can’t just come here and ruin my date. You have no right Joshua.” She pushed him away from her. “You cheated on me, there is no apologizing for that, not after the shit I put up with from you and your family for years.”
“Kiyana please - “
“Go home Joshua.” She muttered, blinking her tears away. She was done crying over him. “I’m trying to move on, you need to do the same.” Josh felt as if Kiyana just reached into his chest and pulled his heart out, as she gave him one last look before turning and walking back into the restaurant to continue her date. Leaving him heartbroken and empty.
🙃
Y'all think Josh can actually win her back or y'all think Kiyana is over him and nothing her can do will fix or change anything. ?
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A/N: Sorry this took two weeks 😭. I was just feeling a bit stuck with this chapter. Hopefully chapter 8 won't take another 2 weeks.
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#wwe#jey uso#jey uso x black reader#main event jey uso#jey uso x reader#wwe x black reader#jey uso fanfic#jey uso imagine#jey uso fanfiction#wwe x fem reader#wwe x y/n#wwe x oc#wwe x you#jey uso x black oc#jey uso x oc#jey uso x fem reader#jey uso imagines#jey uso smut#jey uso fic#wwe fanfiction#wwe x reader#jey uso x y/n
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[ID: A banner-style graphic featuring a coyote's open mouth on a dark black background. Orange all-caps text near the bottom of the image reads: "happy birthday Greenwarden." /end ID]
Happy birthday to my firstborn problem!! I'm trying really hard to not think about how long it's actually been, but to celebrate Greenwarden being mysteriously old I'm posting a former Patreon snippet! I'm also announcing that 1) I quit me day job, and 2) I'm going to be compiling a bunch of Greenwarden shorts that would have gone up on Patreon if I had kept it up. More on that to come when I get all my ducks in a line.
GRAVEROBBING AND NECROMANCY FOR DUMMIES
Marianna & Tracker. 16+. Grimdark Fantasy AU. Scofiddle Pepper Rating: Bell Pepper.
Content Warnings: Blood, minor wounds, implied mind-control, mentions of death.
Mausoleums always have a certain smell — mold, mildew, cracking damp stone. The decay of rock and mortar, but never flesh. The sarcophagi are tightly sealed with both wards and wax, partially to keep the smell at bay. No air, nor Light, nor hands will ever creep inside them. The Silent Mercies do their grim work and do it well, keeping them locked up tight. Then they leave — that's the extent of their dues to the dead.
They can count themselves lucky. Corpses don't exactly make great company. Particularly when some of them are itching to come back.
You can't help but feel like there are eyes on you, your torch cutting through the dark, damp guts of the tomb. An intrusion. Indigestion. The violent, flickering orange light makes the shadows greasy. You'd use a magelight, but you're already dancing on the razor-thin line between bravery and stupidity; you don't want to risk waking something. Someone.
They were people once, allegedly, but you know what pride morphs people into.
Particularly powerful necromancers resist even the cleansing fire of holy Light, their sentience existing in each molecule of ash, slowly piecing themself back together with sheer will and hate. It may take hundreds — maybe thousands — of years, but eventually they will come back. So, the Temple does what it can. The liches are bound, still conscious, and placed in a sarcophagus. The sarcophagus is sealed — with prayer, with wax, with chains and locks both physical and magical — and a mausoleum built around it. The Silent Mercies make their rounds indefinitely, strengthening the wards and installing ever more complex locks. Hundreds of years turn into thousands.
The hopeful end result is a stark raving mad lich warlock that will, if all goes well, blissfully prefer the judgment of the Light before they suffer one more second of silent, unmoving, stagnant solitude. Time and again the methods of the Temple are proven effective. Terrifying, and effective. Most choose to vacate their own bodies than live in the dark for an undetermined amount of time. Unable to move. Unable to see. Slowly withering away, mummifying, rotting in your own skin. Whatever you’re going to find will not be human anymore – if it was ever human in the first place.
You cross the dusty, time-ravaged stone floor to the sarcophagus at the far end of the room. It's a short walk. Mausoleums are traditionally small, most especially the ones outside of temples, reserved for the vilest of the old guard, the lichkings who dared to try and defy death. Beings that rejected humanity, even rejected immolation, and should not under any circumstances be within spitting distance of a residential area.
Zoning laws: the bane of all undead tyrants.
There's only one — which is nerve-wracking. It sits placidly on a raised dais set with small, half-melted candles, as if it’s waiting for you. A frozen slime trail of old wax meanders down the dais, caught in time. The thrum of magic tickles your fingertips. Brushing, like a cat would, up against your palms and skittering up your arms. Both a beckoning and a warning. Temptation.
It's wrong. A singular coffin is like finding a singular roach. Not wholly uncommon, but it sets your teeth on edge.
It means one of two things: either the Temple managed to burn the master’s undead servants, even the stubborn ones. Or, worse – they’re afraid of what it might do with nearby corpses, even sealed away.
Your arms itch. You set your torch in a conveniently placed wall sconce and start working to get your mind off things.
The Temple of Light may not like to admit it, but what they do is magic. The prayers wielded by their paladins and clerics are incantations; the talismans created by their monks are charms, woven out of somewhat less mathematically inclined sigils. Magic. They hang and burn people for it in the streets, but it keeps their mausoleums tightly locked and their church in power.
Like any spell, a prayer can be broken with a little bit of reverse engineering. And you are very good at breaking things.
Maybe it's the uniqueness of your situation, or maybe you were just created with something special, but seeing the patterns in the weave and weft of magic comes second nature to you. Almost like a physical thing. A golden projection of arcane artistry.
It's a complicated spell; the Woodsman lived hundreds of years ago, long enough that even its very name was forgotten. The ward is centuries of layers, each one getting more and more complex as the Silent Mercies learned what incantations and motions were most effective at keeping the dead at bay. Trails of cold, melted wax dripping down time. A beautiful puzzle, just for you. You're always half-giddy, knowing that you may very well be the only one who can truly see the work, the history behind it, and that you might be the only one smart enough not just to break it to pieces, but coax it open.
Enough. You need to be fast.
Your forehead tenses, brows knit as you start reversing half a millennia of spellcraft. Delicately, slowly, you work out the motions, but in reverse. A twist of your hand, fingers curled, your arm moving in hypnotic diamonds and stars and spirals. Shapes designed to trap and contain. The fingers on your other hand open and close in the same fractal rhythm half a canto ahead, parsing out the right steps in the dance before you walk the dancefloor. You're a conductor, ripping carefully crafted sheet music to shreds. The torch flickers.
There's no sound but your own short, elated huff of laughter when your hand slides into place at the ward's terminus. Deep in your hindbrain, a lock falls open with a satisfying click!
“Don't move.”
Oh. That's a sword — you feel the tip of it caressing the nape of your neck. Slowly, carefully, you raise your hands to the sides of your head. You’re unarmed, and thankful you have gloves on.
“Turn around.”
It’s not like you have room to argue.
You’re face-to-face with the tip of a shiny, well-polished blade. The silver coating makes your back teeth itch. You feel it vibrating, still coming down, hypersensitive to atomic changes in the air. You’re also face-to-chest with an extraordinarily tall cleric in their classic white and gold armor. An immediate, violent chill settles into your spine.
She’s hard-faced, hair cut bluntly short; she gives you the impression that her only expression is scowl. You prepare yourself to fire and run. It’ll set your research back months – maybe even a year – but you’ll live.
“Explain yourself.” You’re taken aback by that – you do a quick three-point look around the room and with your head and then spread your hands out a little further.
“I mean,” you say, “I think we both know I’m not supposed to be here.”
She doesn’t like that. Her hands choke a little tighter around her sword grip, leather squealing and platemail clicking as she shifts even deeper into a fighting stance. The sword gets a little closer to your face. A sweat breaks out between your shoulder blades.
“You’re a mage.”
“And you’re a cleric.” Impasse. Stand off. Stare down. Neither of you are willing to make the first move – maybe she’s hoping for a peaceful resolution. That you’ll go gracefully to the stake.
Fat chance, but something changes when she opens her mouth to reply.
You don’t like the look that falls over the cleric’s face – wide eyed, eyebrows to the hairline, mouth half-open. The blood leaving her face. The slight tremble in her steady hands. Fear.
Slowly, you twist your neck to look behind you.
The Woodsman’s coffin is open – a deep, yawning blackness slides out of it, liquid trapped inside thin film. On the coattails of the light-drinking sludge, a skeletal hand slides, damn near leisurely, out of the sarcophagus. What follows is a horror of ancient science. Half human, half… something else.
The antlers crown its head, but the head is canine, deep pinpoints of light inside empty sockets. Mummified skin knits across bone, thin as paper and patchy in places. Its teeth are bare to the world and yellowed with centuries. You watch the slick, black flesh form an amorphous mass beneath the skull, the arms nothing but bone haphazardly slapped onto an overgorged slug.
You were hoping it wasn’t in there – everything you’ve learned told you it had probably vacated its body years ago. There had been no activity for so long – no plague of nightmares, no major possessions, no strange activity in the flora and fauna – and yet. The Woodsman slithers out of its unlocked tomb on a tide of melted void-flesh, rises on it until it has to bend, its shoulders scraping the ceiling of the mausoleum. It opens its mouth wide – skin and gristle clinging to its jaw in loose strings – and shrieks.
It’s shrill and piercing. You’re concussed, briefly, slapping your hands over your ears. You feel it – in your head. Scraping the inside of your skull, dark wordless whispers in your hindbrain. It knows you. It sees you. It’s in your head.
The cleric pushes you behind her, nearly to the door in the tiny mausoleum. You’re confused – still concussed. You don’t run.
“Go!” She shouts, swinging and hacking at the growing sea of rotting flesh. She swings too wide – the silver-steel scrapes against the walls of the mausoleum and sparks. The Woodsman just keeps growing. One by one, the candles and torch are swallowed whole. A deep, endless black. A tidal wave of nothing.
You’re not about to argue. You turn tail and run out the door.
Two steps past the tomb, you stumble to a stop. A quick, hard-breathing glance behind you lets you know that the cleric already isn’t doing well. She’s fighting like an animal, punching what she can’t cut. Every slice is swallowed up by more reeling, lightless flesh. You still feel the Woodsman’s scritching little claws, furrows in your soft, pliant brain. Every iota of you recoils away from it. But that cleric – she let you go.
You look down at your hands. The dark leather gloves, fingertips worn, the edges frayed.
Shaking, you slip them off your hands and leave them in the grass.
You grab the back of the cleric’s breastplate and yank her back into fresh air, swapping places in one smooth transition. You don’t know what she sees. If she notices the dark, blue-black corrupted skin of your hands or the bright runes squirming over your arms while you reach deep in yourself for something destructive. The bands around your wrists and throat mark you as a Thing – something broken loose. The Woodsman tugs at your tattered ghost leash with an interested spiritual hand, head cocked. Your programming demands you kneel for consumption, and your knees twitch before you get yourself back under control. You almost see a wink of recognition.
Little homunculus, the Woodsman whispers, curling around the base of your skull like a cat, so far from home.
“Shut up,” you say, and light up the room.
The Temple of Light has claimed the lichkings reject holy fire and immolation – they just haven’t tried something hot enough. Your fire is pure destruction, white with heat, blinding against the greasy black corruption sludge coating the walls. The Woodsman shrieks – pain, rage, confusion. Spikes of pain explode behind your eyes, and you burn them away too.
You wade through the muck, scorching it all to ash, beating the Woodsman back until it tries to seek refuge again in its sarcophagus, huddling in the pit. A child taking refuge in a cellar. Curled at the back of a cell. Useless, useless.
You reach out with a flame-licked hand and clamp down hard on its muzzle.
“Shut up,” you hiss, and watch fire make cracks in its skull. It rakes your arms with bony claws, opening bloody gashes in your flesh. The blood sizzles and evaporates almost instantly.
The Woodsman’s head explodes with a loud crack, bone shards ripping through the skin of your cheek. The rest of it goes limp in a heap. What’s left, you turn to coal dust, just in case. When you’re done, all that’s left of the Woodsman is a greasy soot stain coating the floor, walls, and ceiling. It’s a little gruesome. Reminds you uncomfortably of blood.
You coax the flames back in, lower and lower, wobbling with exhaustion, until a comfortable, warm dark swallows you. There’s light in it – ambient, soft reflections of the moon outside. The sarcophagus is a welcome resting spot, using its high lip to stay half-standing. Even then, you see little spots in your vision, the edges going blurry. A few drops of blood slide out of your nose and splatter on the ground. Your ears are ringing.
“You’ve got red on you.” You jump.
The cleric is standing there, wiping blood and slime off her face. One of her eyes is nearly glued shut, an open wound on her brow pouring red down her cheek and under her collar. You give her a once-over before you weakly tilt your chin up.
“So do you,” you say. She nods – holds out her hand.
“Marianna.”
Cautiously, you cross the floor on shaky legs to take it, and give her your name. The one you picked for yourself – it feels nice. To introduce yourself, for once. She almost crushes your hand. You’re comparatively weak.
“You saved my life, mage,” Marianna says. You grin with a mouthful of bloody teeth, an acknowledgement.
Then, your body finally gives up. You’re blissfully unconscious before you hit the ground.
#long post#sensible chuckle over the scofiddle pepper rating. anyways!#former patrons will have seen this already but i couldnt figure out what to do for our birthday this year#except feed everyones bautista addictions#and im pretty proud of this au!! :3
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love loss of my life | e. munson x r
‘still alive killing time at the cemetery; never quite buried.’
content warnings; follows the events of stranger things, not my best work, death, grief & mourning.
an; happy two years since eddie munson. sorry for this <3.
‘BURN IN HELL’.
Your eyes never tear away from the stained headstone that had Edward Munson carved in intricate writing, something that finalized his death - even though he’s underneath dirt.
The headstone always made you feel worse than it should.
Scratching at your arm, you slowly kneel to the ground and pull at the weeds that had grown from your last visit. It’d been a while since you’d come to talk to Eddie, or just sit in silence and feel the breeze tickle over your skin as if maybe it was Eddie sending signals.
You’d been in a slump. It’d been a year since he died and today was your two year anniversary. You’d bought his favorite food and drink, some flowers. Placing them at the new small vase you’d brought since the first one had been broken.
There’s a fat tear that rolls down your cheek and you haven’t even spoken yet or felt a breeze. He wasn’t there. Not yet, at least.
Wiping the warm trail away, your hand reaches over and tries to wipe some of the paint away. It’s no surprise when there’s barely anything that moves besides some flakes that fall to the grass.
Pulling your hand away, your fingers fidget together and your chin quivers as your forehead rests against the top of your knees.
The pain of losing someone so dear and close to your heart, someone who you had planned a life with, someone who was taken way too soon, was unbearable.
Suffocating.
There’s things you still see Eddie in, it’s hard not to. The shirts that you keep in your drawer, the few notebooks that had ripped pages or doodles that had taken up your nightstand and sometimes the empty side of your bed, the flannel sheets that you’d stolen from his room and put on your on bed.
You’re tormenting yourself and you know it - it’s hard not too. Especially when you have that guilt.
The guilt of surviving. The guilt of not helping. Guilt of not being there and holding him during his last moments. Dustin had spared some moments, but you still wondered.
You didn’t get to see Eddie’s body after. Steve wouldn’t let you go see him. You hated Steve for that and kept your distance for a while. It was selfish and you wanted to be angry at someone rather than yourself.
Blaming someone was easier than blaming yourself.
But you don’t blame him, you don’t blame anyone. Deep down, you knew you wouldn’t have been able to change Eddie’s mind. Eddie had made a decision, a big one.
For a while, you found yourself angry at Eddie. But that never lasted long. Alive or dead, you could never stay mad at him for too long.
Cleaning everything out that hadn’t been destroyed was a hard step, but doing it with Wayne… there was some laughs.
But the sobs that had left you with shaking shoulders while Wayne tried to tide over his own tears and held you close.
It’s been a while since you’ve visited Wayne. You’re scared too. It’s something you regret being fearful of doing because you know Wayne has no one now. The once chaotic teen that had kept him on his toes doesn’t anymore.
There’s a breeze that tickles across your skin and your head lifts slowly as you glance at the headstone before at the waving branches. Green leaves part from their home and drift to the ground in a slow motion.
“Hi, Eds,” It’s whispered. You know no one would judge you if they were to come visit their own family or a friend or a child. They do the same. So their loved ones don’t feel forgotten.
So they don’t feel alone and sad.
“I miss you.”
The breeze causes your hair to tickle over your cheek. Your eyes slowly close, nose slightly flaring and wet from snot.
A tear rolls down your cheek slowly because you can still see his cheeky smile that creates those dimples you always loved to kiss.
He’s still here. Even if you can’t see him.
Not only was Eddie the love of your life - a man who you would go to war for, a man who you’d never get over - he was the loss of your life as well.
— @joshlmbrt 2024
#cherry writes ✿#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson angst
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Prom Queen.
Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)
A/N: Look at me with the consistent posts!!! Anyways, you know the drill. Read the tags and skip right past this fic if it's not your jam. This is a work of fiction with dark themes, so use the tags to guide yourself and choose to read it (or not) based on your comfort level. Thanks!
Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), p in v, unprotected sex, misogyny, references to bullying, sexual abuse mentions, grooming, light plot, lowkey insecure Leon, possibly triggering and disturbing content in general
Word count: 1.6k
!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!
You had always dreamed about your senior prom. Even as a young girl, you thought exhaustively about how the night would go. You would wear a gorgeous gown, drink spiked punch, dance and laugh with friends, and most importantly, you would go with a cute boy.
Those dreams fell flat when your strict father outlawed prom for you. He said that prom was just an opportunity for hyped up, hormonal teens to gyrate on each other on school property. Prom was a night where girls opened their legs for their subpar dates who barely made the effort to scrounge up a corsage for them. Prom was the chance for unwanted, "happy accident" babies to be made by teenaged fuck-ups.
In short, prom was for whores. Leon would be damned if he would have a nasty whore of a daughter. It made him sick to even think of you wasting your sweet, nearly virginal body on a shit-for-brains boy whose only sexual experience no doubt came from his own right hand.
So, yeah. Prom was a nonstarter.
Of course, this angered you to no end. You could be heard sobbing each night after Leon's declaration of war on you having any fun was drawn up, but a small part of you thought it was the best.
You knew that prom wasn't like how it was shown in the movies. You wouldn't get an invitation from the hottest boy in school, you wouldn't get there in a decked out limo, and the punch would be lukewarm and watered down at best.
You wouldn't dance: you would have no one to dance with. You would sit alone at one of the tables eating fun sized candy bars aimlessly scattered on the repurposed lunch room tables in your school's gymnasium, while a horde of your peers would dance nasty on each other, being free and young.
The whole time, nobody would look at you, aside from the sly glance paired with a snicker shared between two gossiping teens, indulging in the rumors that floated around about you.
Nobody would want to dance with the girl who had an overprotective daddy that fucked her. Especially when that girl liked it.
The more you thought about it, the more you came to peace with the idea of staying in with Leon. Technically, being demanded to stay at home with him meant that you were sort of, kind of asked on a "date" with a hot guy, even if you shared DNA with said hot guy.
On the day of the dance, Leon had the decency to let you skip school. You sulked in bed the entire day, thinking about what could have been, rather than what was. He did not bother you, having enough sense to let a sleeping dog lay, but at exactly 10:00 PM , you felt your phone ding under your pillow.
'Come downstairs. Wear a dress. Not one of your church ones.'
His texts were always sharp and to the point, just like he was. Commanding. Strict.
You, as always, obliged. You put on one of his favorites, the one that always left his eyes lingering on your body a little too long. As you made your way down the stairs, you heard the faint sound of romantic music playing in the living room, which you naturally followed like a trail of breadcrumbs.
"Dad, what's all this?"
Your living room looked like a scene stripped from a cheesy romance movie. Rose petals scattered on the floor, lights dimmed low, and a tall, hot stud in the midst of it all. Your father's face was stern, but past that you could see the inkling of excitement in him.
"Your prom. I know it meant a lot to you," he said gruffly, adjusting the collar of the nice shirt he wore, "so I did what I could. Hope this'll make you forgive me."
Your feet pattered softly against the cool flooring, bringing your body along with them. You took a final look around the room and let your eyes lock onto your dad.
"I do. S'okay, I'm not mad at you, daddy."
How could you ever be mad at him? Your perfectly stubborn, grouchy, yet sexy father? Your father who—
"You know I just want the best for you, right peach?" Leon grasped you in his arms, snaking both arms around your lower waist while he rested his chin on your head. "Just wanna keep you safe."
"I know."
You both stood like that for a moment, neither speaking. The soft sound of the music slowly playing in the background was the only noise filling your sense. Well, that and the husky sound of your father's breathing. And his manly, leathery scent. His strong hands placed on your body, too.
You heard him clear his throat briefly and snapped to give him your attention, something you found yourself doing often. He liked when you listened to him quickly, made him feel respected.
"May I have this dance?" Leon asked, giving you a rare smirk when you nodded.
One of his hands stayed on your waist, while the other took your hand gently and clasped it in the air, leading you into a sweet waltz. With each step, he guided you with rigid, calculated movements. His movements were neat, as if he had been planning every moment of your shared dance.
The longer you danced with him, the closer your bodies pressed together, creating a faint friction between the two of you. In that moment, any negative emotion you had felt before faded away, leaving only the image of him in your mind.
Leon knew your signs. He'd spent a long time decoding them, and the look on your face was one he read easily. With a tilt of his head, he leaned in, a soft chuckle escaping his lips when he felt your increased heartbeat against his chest.
You made the first real move, pushing your tongue deeper into his mouth. Kisses were the only time he let you take on a dominant role. He thought it was cute, feeling your smaller tongue fuck into his mouth like you were in charge. Not wanting to spoil your fun, he softly guided you backwards to the wall, giving him a surface to work with.
"You're a bold one, I'll give you that," he said, breaking the kiss. "Can't ever actually ask for what you want, but you go wild once you get it, don't you?"
You hummed, letting him pull you up and wrap your legs around his waist. His hand slid under your dress and pushed it up, giving him a view of your panties.
"God, you're soaked. So wet f'me." Leon stuck his fingers in his mouth, slurping on them and covering them with spit before he forced them past the band of your underwear. Tight, quick circles were made around your clit, denying you of any time to think. "Nobody else can play with this, you hear me? This is all mine, you don' let anybody else have you," his voice was a warm whisper that fanned across your ear.
"I promise, 'm all yours. Don't want anyone else, only you, daddy," you swore desperately, meaning every word even if it sounded like you were just babbling on.
"Fuckin' slut." He spit a fat glob onto his fingers and spread it around your cunt, lubing you up. "Thought I raised a sweet girl. Bet you act like this for the boys at school too, huh?" Your panties were slid to the side.
His teeth clenched together jaggedly as he prodded the tip of his cock at you entrance, drawing in a deep breath when he pushed it fully in.
"No, never! I don't want any of them, just want you. They aren't good enough."
"Yeah? Greedy little cunt only wants her daddy, is that right?" The ego boost he was getting from this ran through him immediately. He wound your clit up with his thumb, quickly zigzagging on the little bud to match his thrusts. "Good. They don't deserve to feel you—"
You cunt fluttered around his length at his words, leaving him biting down on his lip.
"Just like that. Gonna make me cum if you keep that up, baby."
Your mouth hung open, pathetic mewls leaking from it. Each sound he drew out of you was nearly pornographic. He bullied your guts and hit deep, far deeper than your fingers ever could, and left you far more needy than your digits did.
"Inside this time?" You had wanted it so bad for the longest time, and instead he would pull out of you and coat your soft tummy or the fat of your ass with his ropes. "I need to feel it, please. I don't wanna be empty again, jus' fill me up," you slurred, drool spilling from the corner of your plush mouth.
"Yeah," he huffed, nodding along with you words, ready to finally jump at the opportunity, "yeah, inside. I need it to baby, you have no idea. Daddy wants to spoil you real bad, he wants to give you all the babies you want."
Your lower body tensed, squeezing him tightly as the familiar rhythmic pattern of your orgasm set in. It felt so right in that moment, like your body was made for this exact purpose: being a warm hole for your dad to fill with his hot cum.
"Ready?" He said it more like a demand than a question, and within seconds he was creaming into you, still pounding your cunt like he hated you. "Take it, don't spill."
He kept his dick sheathed away inside of you, hoping that if he kept most of his cum in you, it would take. His brow was slick with sweat and his face was flushed. He had never looked so attractive before.
You ran your hand through his hair to get his attention. When he darted his eyes up to you, you mumbled something about wanting to go again.
"Anything for you baby. Night's still young, isn't it? We got time."
#cw incest#tw inc*st#leon s kennedy x reader#resident evil x reader#x reader#smut#smutfic#barleyxnighteye#resident evil#dark content#dead dove fic
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Wash remembers the first day he saw Tucker without his armor.
They were at Valhalla, long after the fight with the Meta, finally settling down into a routine that felt… natural. That being said, Wash was still a little stiff around base, unsure what to do or how to act with nobody around to give him orders.
Well, Tucker would give him the occasional order, but it was more of a snarky request he never expected Washington to complete or a bitchy reply to whatever melodramatic comment Wash had made.
Besides, Tucker seemed hesitant to give any actual orders despite being the highest ranking on base, leaving Wash to just… hover.
He’d train in the morning, going on simple runs while he healed up from fighting both Tex and the Meta before gradually moving back to his regular training regimen. Sometimes Caboose would join, giving Wash a run for his money with how difficult he was to take down in a spar.
Tucker never seemed keen on joining, not much of a morning person himself, though he obviously trained at some point since Tucker could wield his plasma sword like a pro.
It was a shame they trained at different times. Wash would really like to wage his knives against Tucker’s sword.
It was that fateful sunny day, however, that finally gave Wash that chance to wager.
It was early, even for Wash. The sun had barely made it over the horizon, the canyon still quiet as most of its residents slept.
Wash was practically buzzing in bed.
He didn’t want to wake Caboose, couldn’t even if he wanted to. When Caboose was asleep, he was dead to the world until he got his eight hours. (Like clockwork. Wash was impressed.)
He also didn’t want to wake Tucker, but the itch in his skin wasn’t going away even after pumping out enough push ups to make his arms sting or running around the canyon enough to get his legs aching.
No, what he needed was a spar. And a good one at that.
Tucker seemed like the kind of guy to understand that kind of itch. Wash thinks he’s seen it in the few times he’s caught him practicing katas with his sword.
Angry and rushed and hard, yet still powerful and firm and artful.
Wash would like a fight with that. Wash would really like a fight with that. Which is what got him into this situation.
In his defense, he did knock on the door.
He just also… forgot to wait for an answer.
He was antsy, alright? He hardly had the patience to wait for Tucker to wake up enough to answer him.
He really should’ve waited.
Tucker laid there bare, the only thing covering him up being the blanket tangled around his middle (and thank fuck for that). Miles of dark skin that Wash didn’t even think to consider was under that aqua armor shined softly under the morning sun along with the long connecting marks of gentle blue tattoos covering his body. Wash trailed them up and down the length of Tucker’s body, dully noting the two marks that curled over his face.
That must’ve been a bitch to get.
Tucker definitely worked out to some degree if the lean muscles covering his body were anything to go by, Wash noted with a mild appreciation—
Wait. No. That’s not what he’s for.
He snaps his eyes back up from where they were, admittedly, staring at Tucker’s thick thighs up to his face and—
Were Tucker’s eyes always open?
“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”
Wash flushed from head to toe as Tucker flashed him a lazy grin and oh fuck Wash can see the sharpness of his canines from here.
“Uh.” He said dumbly, brain still figuring out how the fuck Tucker’s voice was so grumbly even though he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “I was just— I just wanted to know if you wanted to have a spar with me?”
The end of his sentence trailed off as Tucker sat up in his elbows, blanket falling further down his stomach to reveal some thick, jagged looking scars of blue. It took all of Wash’s willpower to not just stare at the artwork across Tucker’s skin.
Focus.
“Dude, it’s like, butt-fuck o’clock. And not the fun kind. Why are you even awake?” Tucker didn’t sound annoyed, just curious, mostly groggy and maybe a bit amused.
Wash shuffled as Tucker blatantly checks out his own armor free body, feeling a little self-conscious about the sweat making his shirt cling to his chest.
“I uh, couldn’t sleep. ‘M a bit restless.”
Tucker looks him over a bit more critically, taking note of the way Wash practically vibrates out of his skin. He flicks his eyes up to Wash’s and all Wash sees is plain and simple understanding. His shoulders drop a bit.
“Hm. Yeah, sure. I could go for a spar.” Tucker’s gaze shifts again and Wash feels like he’s pinned to floor with the intensity of it. Tucker leans back on his elbows more, shifting just enough to make the blanket fall just between his legs, leaving very little to Wash’s imagination.
“I could go for more than a spar, if you’re up for it.”
Wash blinks.
Blinks again.
Did he mean…?
His body buzzes in excitement at the implication, his fists squeezing tight to keep it from spilling out of him. “I’ll get my knives. Meet you out in the yard in ten.”
Wash is bolting out down the hallway before he can spot Tucker’s confused expression.
He’s finally going to be able to test Tucker’s swordplay.
This was gonna be fun.
+++
Tucker watches with mild interest and confusion as Wash slips from view before letting himself plop back down onto his bed.
When he had awoken to Wash eyeing him up, he thought it was gonna end with both of them in here. Apparently, Wash is a lot less observant than previously thought. Or maybe he was just stupid oblivious.
Spending years with the same group of people while in the middle of a military operation was not indicative of good flirting skills and comprehension.
Tucker would know, he had to relearn so many things about sex and the art of seduction after all the years he spent in Blood Gulch.
Maybe he could give a fee pointer to Wash.
In the meantime, he had a freelancer’s ass to kick. Tucker didn’t spend all that time playing with his sword for nothing.
This was gonna be fun.
#definitely going to add more to this later#but we’ll post this just to start <3#lavernius tucker#rvb#rvb tucker#agent washington#rvb wash#tuckington#i need yall to know that Wash doesn’t even second guess his take on Tucker’s flirting#even after he realizes tucker is into him later down the road#he’s completely convinced himsefl that his tired slightly manic mind was correct in his interpretation of Tucker’s flirting#he noticed everything else… just not the invitation for sex#and tucker was SO excited to fuck the jitters out of Wash#next time buddy
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Apocalypse mini series pt 2
TW: gore(typical zombie apocalypse gore)
Word count: 1.8k
There isn’t much conversation on the walk to the mall, just the occasional random questions from Nick, or Folio, as he likes to be called. Walking up the road that leads to the mall, trails of dead zombies lead the way towards the back of the large building.
“Oh wow so you guys have to fight through this crowd every time you leave?” you ask just above a whisper.
Noah nods his and puts his finger over his mouth telling you to be quiet. You obviously oblige, seeing as though they know their way around here much better than you do. Taking out more zombies than you’ve had to in a long time, you finally made it to the back where they show you the small crawl space they use to get in and out of the mall without making any noise.
The inside of the mall isn’t actually as bad as the outside thankfully so you don’t have to be as quiet. They’ve gotten about 3/4ths of the mall cleared out in the seven months that they have been staying here. You can’t even begin to imagine the amount of bodies they must have had to dispose of, including their own people. You never really had a group so you didn’t ever have to worry about losing anyone close to you. A few people have come and gone but it was never too hurtful, after all, you got pretty used to losing people before the apocalypse.
“Wow,” you stammer almost struggling to imagine how it must have looked before they took over.
“Yeah it’s pretty great. The only thing we should warn you about is where we’ve kind of had to push the rest of the dead guys until we can get to killing the rest of them.” Nick stops at a map of the mall which has different markings on it, showing where the danger zone is. “Basically anywhere with a huge “X” over it isn’t safe. We’ve marked maps all over the mall and there are writings on the walls pointing to the danger zones so unless you’re blind, it’s pretty straightforward.”
“You guys have really gotten this planned out. How the hell did you manage to take over the entire mall without other people trying to steal it?” You question.
Folio and Noah exchange glances before Noah finally speaks up. “They definitely tried but we had more people and we were stronger. This is the first time we’ve had to leave in a while, hence all the corpses on the road.”
You nod, still taking in the surroundings. They lead you back to the far left side of the mall and for the first time in four years, you see lights. It’s funny the things you take for granted and you never even realize it.
“Oh my god,” you squeal like a kid on christmas. “Sorry I haven’t seen a light on in years. How did you manage this?”
“There’s a backup generator in the basement that runs on gas so we just make sure they stay full and.. Let there be light,” Folio smiles, showing off a goofy grin.
As much as you hate to say it, you have missed being around other living people. Especially the ones who aren’t trying to kill you or steal from you.
They continued showing you around a bit before finally getting back to the furniture store where apparently everyone sleeps. I guess that is a good idea to avoid getting ambushed while being alone.
Noah whistles a weird tune before two new guys appear from different parts of the mall. They both have hella long hair and once again, are very attractive. It has been a long time since you’ve had any kind of intimacy but you weren’t really that big on it before the end of the world anyway. It is nice to see some attractive faces in the middle of all of this though.
The one with the longer hair has a blank expression on his face and tattoos covering every inch of his arms and hands and of course, is wearing all black. The other guy, like Folio and Noah, has long sleeves and pants on but you can clearly see the ink on his hands as well, and he actually has a bit of a smile on his face.
“Who’s this?” The taller one asks. He has a sort of accent you can’t quite figure out but he’s definitely nice to listen to.
“Y/N.” You give a small smile and extend your hand only to be left in the dark.
You slowly put your hand down and cross your hands across your chest, a bit embarrassed to say the least.
“Found her at the gas station a few miles from here. We got caught in a horde and she handled her own so we figured we could use an extra hand around here from someone who knows what they’re doing.” Noah tells the other two men. “Where’s Matt?”
“Who knows, man? He’s been in a mood today,” the other guy responds finally. “Sorry, I’m Nick, this is Jolly.”
Oh wow. Two Nicks? I see why he goes by Folio now.
“Who’s the better Nick?” You try to joke, but only get a slight chuckle out of Folio. It’s okay. You haven’t been around people in months, the jokes will come back.
Jolly and Noah make eye contact and Jolly motions to the right with his head as they walk away, obviously to talk about the situation.
“Well nice to meet you Y/N,” Nick breaks the silence after a minute. “Did they show you around?”
You pick at your fingernails, not able to tell the vibe of the room anymore. “Kind of,” you shrug.
Folio notices the change in your demeanor from just a few minutes ago. “Hey don’t mind Noah and Jolly. They can be grumpy sometimes, it’s not at you.” He gives you another big smile and of course you immediately feel a little better.
“Well, let me and Folio give you the big tour,” Nick says.
You walk around the safe side of the mall for a while as they show you all the makeshift random shit they’ve made so far. There’s a clothing store next to the furniture store so you take your time trying to find something that hasn’t been worn for weeks without being properly washed.
After the tour, you go back to the shower/locker room meant for employees and take a much needed HOT shower. Due to the generators, it kicks on the hot water heater in the building so not only is there a working shower, but it gets hot!!!
Letting the hot water run over your face and sore body, you can’t help but thank yourself mentally for saying yes to these two random guys. It’s been a few hours since you met but you already feel safer than staying alone in a beat down cabin in the woods. The showers are actually really nice for them to be inside of a mall; there are four showers, two on either side of the large room and they’re pretty spacious.
After your shower, who knows how long you were in there, you notice the large mirror on the opposite side of the showers nearest the lockers. You honestly don’t even recognize yourself anymore. Your hair is much longer than it was but also in a weird way, much healthier, probably due to not using shampoo on it every other day. You’ve always been beautiful but after four years in an apocalypse, you definitely aren’t the same. The cuts and bruises on your arms and legs from fighting the dead ones and hiking through the woods are apparent, but they don’t make you any less beautiful. If anything, you look pretty badass right now.
Smiling at yourself, you finally put your new clothes on, you opted for a black cut off tank top and a pair of comfortable pajama shorts. Go big or go home right? You even got a new pair of house slippers because why not?
“Hey finally. So we were talking and since we obviously haven’t had any women staying around in quite some time, we wanted to see where you were comfortable staying. There’s plenty of room in the furniture department and you can have the farthest bed or however you want to do it,” Noah finally gives you a smile.
You glance over at Folio, who can’t take his eyes off of you and a light pink blush travels across your cheeks.
“Oh um I haven’t really thought that far ahead. Show me where you guys sleep and I can go from there I guess,” you shift awkwardly, not used to the male attention.
Nick and Jolly take you to where everyone sleeps and show you around. They all sleep pretty close together which, you understand its the end of the world and everything, but who doesn’t want privacy?
You end up picking a king size bed not too far from the guys just in case something pops off in the middle of the night, and make it your own. The sage green comforter you find fits perfectly and it’s much better than sleeping on a hardwood floor with nothing but a thin blanket and a shirt for a pillow.
a few hours later
The best thing about being at a mall in the middle of a pandemic, is the food. After only eating foraged berries and the occasional canned goods, finally having some real food (aka fish that Folio caught earlier that day), is the best way to end the day.
“So where’s the other guy? What was his name, Matt?” You ask, stuffing your face.
Jolly takes a break from picking at his fish and is the first to answer. “Sometimes Matt needs to have a bit of a ‘cool down’ from everything. He has quite the temper. No one really knows where he goes but he always comes back eventually.”
You nod slowly, almost worrying about how he would feel about a random woman showing up out of nowhere.
“Don’t look so worried princess, he doesn’t bite,” Noah taps his elbow into yours.
If this man doesn’t stop using the nickname princess…
You blush again at the way it rolls off of his tongue so perfectly. You almost can’t help but wonder what else he can do with it.
Nick stands up and walks to the room everyone shares but not without saying, “you know what time it is,” first.
The other three guys let out some cheers and applause, leaving you looking dumbfounded and confused.
It’s very obvious these guys have known each other since the beginning at least with all the chemistry floating around. When Nick comes back, he has a bottle of tequila in one hand and ‘Cards Against Humanity’ in the other. Your eyes light up in an instant; you can’t even remember the last time you got to drink. Or play a card game with friends. Maybe the apocalypse won’t be too bad with these random tattooed guys around.
lmkkk what you guys think🫶🏼🫶🏼
divider from here
#bad omens#bad omens cult#noah sebastian#nick folio#nicholas ruffilo#joakim jolly karlsson#jolly karlsson#matt dierkes
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request by: @colorfulengineerdeer
Soft Spot
Yandere! Hongou Hina x Fem! Reader
(ft. Nozomi.)
(Kenny: I haven't read Isshou Senkin for a while so sorry if it's not accurate.)
Info/TWs: oneshot/story type, female reader, platonic/romantic yandere, yandere themes, overprotective, jealousy(?), profanity, takes place after hina was crippled or something i think, reader barely appears or does anything, nozomi centered you're seeing the story through her eyes, written 2nd person perspective
𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: Nozomi wanted to see how Hina was faring at high school with such injuries. Fortunately, and unfortunately for her, she found a weak point in Hina. (wc: 1,336)
"Hmm... Why are you here? Nozomi~? Came to spy on me?" Hina playfully hummed, her star irises glittered, staring at Nozomi from top to bottom.
Koyo Girl's Academy. —Is where Nozomi stood.
The air resonates with familiarity, making the both of them remember a bit of that time when they kidnapped Hina to use her in the underground fighting organization.
"I came here to pick you up, we're going to the place, 'you know what', and discuss some stuff you might be interested in," Nozomi says, her tired eyes with deep eye bags looking at Hina's cheery and upbeat face.
It's a bit uncanny since she's all bandaged up like she was hit by a truck. Rather, it came from a ring and an intense fight that almost cost a life.
"Hmmm? It's a bit too early for that, don't you think?" Hina replies, a matter of fact.
"I've got time to kill, we can go to a cafe if you want," Nozomi says.
"...Hmmm... I'm sorry I've got some plans today, maybe next time?" Hina smiles. A pleasant face, and a cheery voice, yet Nozomi managed to spot a hint of hostility and threat.
Nozomi thinks about it over, normally, Hina would be beyond excited at a chance of another challenger for her. Even in a damaged state, she knows that Hina will still want to be in a good spirit fight.
So it's a bit weird that she would be willing to refuse.
"It's important... But whatever, if you're busy, then it's fi—"
"Hina! Sorry I'm late, I had to arrange my books..." Nozomi's sentence was cut off by you, a third person entering the scene. You called out to Hina, running and waving, the moment you stood beside her, you took notice of the woman she was talking to.
"Hello. You must be Hina's friend?" You politely ask her.
"...Yeah." Nozomi stared at you with dead eyes, you didn't seem even slightly intimidated at all.
"[Name]." Hina blinked, trying to catch your attention.
"Oh, Hina, right... We're gonna go on a date." You say, finally taking notice of her. She beams so brightly and attaches herself to you, so fast despite being crippled. To which you say: "Don't move quickly like that!" —in worry.
"A date?" Nozomi was stunned, after all, it was too blunt. A date? With Hina? It may be possible, but in what universe?
"No... We're not dating. It's just an outing..." You sighed, and Nozomi couldn't help but notice that Hina got a bit upset at your words.
Nozomi prepared herself for what she was about to ask. "In that case, can I tag along?"
Nozomi felt aggravation seep out from Hina's aura, until she blinked and decided to say that: "Okay! You can join. The more, the merrier!"
Hina smiled, not a single trace of said aggravation.
"Okay... So where are we going?" You ask.
"Hmmm... I want to eat at McDonalds!" Hina smiled brightly as Nozomi observed and trailed behind.
—@—
"I was suddenly surprised when she got to school, all bandaged up and crippled like that!" You converse to Nozomi, mentioning the girl who sat beside you was scarfing down a double cheeseburger. She gulped the food down before taking it to you.
"I got in an accident," Hina states.
"Then you should be in a hospital and taking a rest! Not frying up your brain at school." You nag. "Come on, you get me worried a lot."
"But I like you being a worrywart." Hina teased. Her star irises looking at you intensely.
Nozomi wanted to groan and puke at the sight of the two of you talking to one another. It's like being third-wheeled in the worst way possible.
From how much Hina is glaring at her with a smile so openly.
Anyhow, Nozomi is bored from this date, she forgot she ever wanted to tag along.
Taking a sip of her coffee, she decided to talk.
"About the fight..."
Nozomi could feel all the signs of Hina being livid.
She had never seen her so mad before. It gave her the chills as much as she tried to be unperturbed.
"Fight? What fight, Hina... Don't tell me you got injured because of gangsters...?" You softly say, a bit surprised.
Hina stares at her wide with star irises, a star it may be, it looks like nothing but a void. She feels her anger bubbling in. A telltale sign to make your choices carefully. And by that I mean ABSOLUTELY, do not fuck this shit up and make her any more mad than she already is.
"It's a video game, Hina is trying to win a championship in a video game contest through a fight." Nozomi calmly replies to hide the fact that she's panicking.
"Ah... I see, why didn't you say so? Well, I hope you do well, good luck in that fight, Hina!" You cluelessly said, trying to be as supportive as you can.
How gullible.
Nozomi wonders why you didn't even ask or push further but instead accepted it quickly. She also wonders why Hina got your attention.
You were the opposite, nothing like those people of the underground.
Why would a walking psychotic biological weapon like Hina be interested in a weak, gullible human? It makes Nozomi curious.
"Of course, thank you [Name]! I'll be sure to enjoy that fight..." Hina's last sentence was laced with a venom of ecstasy.
—@—
"Awww... It's time to go???" Hina whined as she was separated from you. Now waving of your goodbyes.
"Goodbye! Stay safe out there okay?" You worriedly said in a hurry and ran off into the sunset. Hina thinks that you came so fast and left as quickly. But it doesn't matter, she had tons of fun hanging out with you. She even got you to go shopping for accessories to match! And try some sweet treats in the streets you haven't tried yet or walk peacefully under the—
"Hurry up and quit your whining. The sun is setting, we might have time for the meeting." Nozomi stated, looking at the clock on her wrist.
"Hmm..." Hina was still staring at where you left off.
"...I see that you have a soft spot," Nozomi says as she drags her on the way to the underground. Hina goes along willingly. "Are you in love with her or something?" Nozomi asks Hina, who is still looking at your footprints.
"...Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Hina broke free from her grasp and ran into the front of Nozomi's path.
"I love, love, love, LOVE, [Name]!!" Hina says cheerfully... No, maniacally? Nozomi can't exactly tell, perhaps it's a mix of both. "Are you telling me I can't love her?"
"No, no I'm not, you sure do, it's evident by the fact that you glare at me whenever I try to talk to her or whether she tries to talk to me. Maybe that's the reason." Nozomi waved her hands off. "But you do know what that means... Right? How much value does your love for her mean?"
"Are you telling me that you're gonna kidnap her and make her a hostage to get what you want from me?" A gleeful smile remained plastered on her lips.
"But you already have me on a leash, don't you? Aren't you having fun at the revolution I did at your little underground fighting organization?" The sunset shaded her starry eyes perfectly, making them shine brightly.
"...Of course, I'm not gonna get your way, Hina, not at all." Nozomi raised her hands in defense.
"I see..."
"But if you are ever planning to lay a single finger on [Name]..." Nozomi felt the temperature drop a ton of degrees as soon as Hina tossed her words.
"—I'll make sure to break all your bones with my own hands. ♡" The star in Hina's eyes showed nothing but a danger sign.
"That is... Quite scary to imagine." Nozomi thought loudly.
#soft yandere#yandere x reader#yandere#soft yandere x reader#yandere oneshot#platonic yandere#romantic yandere#yandere manga#yandere manga x reader#x reader#fem reader#manga x reader#star strike it rich#st✰r: strike it rich#star strike it rich x reader#isshou senkin#isshou senkin x reader#hongou hina#hina hongou#hongou hina x reader#hina hongu x reader#tenma nozomi#nozomi tenma#tw yandere
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"No Longer You" - Hungarian Loose Translation
So I made this loose translation of "No Longer You" from EPIC: The Musical by Jorge Rivera-Herrans, but the thing is I can't really well/don't dare to sing
Therefore, I'm calling out to my fellow Hungarian EPIC fans who love to sing - uhm - I drop it here and - uhm - if you could somehow pass a cover on to me... It would make me really happy to hear how it actually sounds...
And for fun I literal translated back the Hungarian translation to English, this is the structure I follow:
Original lyrics
Hun loose translation
(Literal translation of Hun)
__This is how it goes__:
I am the prophet
Próféta vagyok
(same)
With the answers you seek
Kérdésedre adok
(To your question I give)
Time…I've unlocked it
Vá-…-laszt, aminek
(Answer that)
I see past and future running free
Idővel határt nem szabok most
(I won't limit with time now)
There is a world
Tán valahol
(Maybe somewhere)
Where I help you get home
Honra rámutatok
(I point at home)
But that's not a world I know
De te ott nem vagy sehol
(But at that place you are nowhere)
What?
Hogy?
I see a song of past romance
Szerelem száll a múlt egén
(Love flies across the sky of the past)
I see the sacrifice of men
Áldozattá válik sok férj
(Many husbands become victims)
I see portrayals of betrayal
Látom ábráját árulónak
(I see the figure of a traitor)
And a brother's final stand
Rajta bátynak rút vérét [I'm not satisfied with this line lol]
(On them is a brother's hideous blood)
I see you on the brink of death
Látom, beér majd a veszted
(I see your doom, reaching you)
I see you draw your final breath
Harcolsz, amíg csak lélegzel [I'm not satisfied with this line either]
(You fight, just until you breathe)
I see a man who gets to make it home alive
Látok valakit haza térni, de téged
(I see someone arriving home, but thee)
But it's no longer you
Nem visz tovább az út
(Does not take any further the road)
This can’t be…
Nem, ez nem [lehet]…
(No, this can’t [be]…)
We’ve suffered and sailed through
Hajóztunk sok kínban
(We sailed in much torment)
The toughest of hells
Veszéllyel megvívva,
(Fighting danger)
Now you tell us
S azt mondod, hogy
(And you say that)
Our effort’s for nothing
Mindezt hiába?
(All this was in vain?)
I see your palace
Látom a várad
(I see your palace)
Covered in red
Vörös fényben
(In red light)
Faces of men who
Megannyi férfi
(So many men)
Has long believed your dead
Végednek hitében
(In the belief of your end)
I see your wife with a man who is haunting
A szeretett nőddel ott van a párja
(With your beloved woman there is her pair)
A man with a trail of bodies
E rémnek Halál nyomában
(This beast has Death in his track)
Who?!
Ki az?!
(Who's that?!)
Chorus 2 ...
#WHO?!?!?#epic the musical#jorge rivera herrans#the odyssey#odysseus#greek mythology#the underworld sagÁ#no longer you#Hungarian translation#artist on tumblr#mircsy#please I don't wanna hear this with my own screeching voice#there might be errors in the literal translation#I'm an amateur
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Clay wasn’t sure what held him back. Upon the evacuation of the Golf Course, he had taken the rear of the group and although he knew Viva had found some help to get them to some place of relative safety, he had no idea who they were. Or even where they were going. It wasn’t until everyone had gotten away from the course, hours later and the world getting darker, that he started to find out things. He helped his people get settled down for the night, creating makeshift tents and shelters for the night. Everyone was scared. Of course everyone was scared.
They had lost their home.
They had no idea where they were going, what was going to happen, how their future was going to change yet again. First the escape of the Troll Tree and now the evacuation of the Golf Course, everything and anything was uncertain.
Everyone was well settled into a well-defensible clearing. He had heard Viva let a few scouts go around the edges to make sure things were okay and keep an eye out. He eventually found Viva settling in next to a fire with a couple other trolls - both familiar and unfamiliar - huddled around on logs dragged from the forest. He took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself, letting the smell of the fire and the crackling of the flames fill his senses.
“And here we thought Johnny here was the last pop troll around,” one of their guides cackled. He had some sort of strange accent Clay couldn’t identify and he couldn’t quite make out the form of the troll from the shadows, despite the illumination of the fire.
He could see Viva rather clearly. She looked a little confused but also curious. “What do you mean?”
“Well… Johnny left home for a bit and when he came back? Everyone was destroyed,” the troll responded. Another troll draped in shadows tensed. It was all Clay could make out from him. “Some of us saw a bit of it… it was… yikes. And after what he told us about… those giants? He thought that everyone had been eaten.”
Viva looked nervous. “The tree looks that bad?”
There was a hesitation. Another troll, who hadn’t spoken yet, let out a quiet, low, “Yes.”
“It was rough there for a while,” the first troll said, continuing to speak. “For him, I mean. Spent years with the gray and you know what comes with that…”
“I do?” Viva echoed.
Grayness wasn’t exactly a very common phenomenon around Pop trolls. They were naturally optimistic and happy, easy to forgive and extremely adaptable. Not everyone knew much about grayness and it was hardly mentioned in school work. Clay knew a bit about it, with some of the sad novels he read, but even he didn’t quite understand it all. He supposed, he had never really quite tried either.
“Hopelessness,” the troll said. “It’s only in the last few years, he’s gotten some of his color back.”
If the subject of their conversation seemed to have any objection to being talked about - and his struggles - he didn’t say anything. Viva looked between the group, the other Putt Putt trolls exchanging uneasy glances. “How… long-?”
“Uh,” the second troll - Johnny, Clay thought he remembered him being called - trailed off, uncertainly. “Over ten years? Maybe thirteen?”
“That…” Viva frowned worriedly. “We escaped about 14 years ago.”
“I wasn’t gone long.”
“And you thought your family was dead this entire time?” One of the Putt Putt Trolls - Flora - looked something akin to horrified with a touch of understanding and empathy. No one was entirely sure if anyone else escaped. They all suspected but no one knew who had survived and who had not. And no one was quite brave enough to go out and try to find them.
“If… If you survived, perhaps my brothers did as well,” the voice was barely a whisper and had a flicker of hesitant hope. “But I don’t want to count on it.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t want to be struck down again,” the first troll answered for him, understanding. “False hope can be devastating.”
“Other pop trolls survived,” Viva said, strongly. “The escapees. We were caught by Bergens and then escaped. There are others but we just don’t know where they are.”
“If they’re out there, they are exceptionally difficult to find.”
****
Clay followed John into the woods, his big brother humming a slow, unfamiliar tune. It sounded almost sad but that didn’t make any sense. He had never known his brother to listen to any sad music. John just started piling sticks next to a tree.
He had waited, momentarily, when John left the fire. Viva had glanced at him, a little confused but she trusted him. They talked about John almost like he wasn’t even there and although they talked in abstract riddles, Clay tried to piece together some things. Like his brother came back to the tree - for them - and thought his entire family was dead. Had for well over a decade. Just the thought made Clay sick to his stomach.
“John Dory.”
His brother turned around but his face just fell into a disappointed but almost concerned frown. Okay, so Clay wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he wasn’t expecting that for sure. It was like John was unhappy to see him. Perhaps he just should have known better. They had separated on terrible terms and John had said goodbye forever. The talk around the fire made it seem like he wanted his brothers back, to be alive. The look on his face told a different story.
“Oh. I guess I should have seen this coming.”
That was really not what he was expecting. “What?”
“One mention of my dead brothers and my brain decides yeah, lets hallucinate again,” John’s chuckle was hollow and without humor and it made Clay’s stomach turn over at least a dozen times.
“What?”
John squinted at him, slightly confused. “You don’t have to sound so shocked. I know you know.”
“I know?” Clay echoed, far more confused.
“Well, get on with it.”
“Get on… with?”
“I'd rather you leave quickly so I don’t have to take hallucination medication again. It messes with my memory and I’d like to keep whatever memories I do have at this point.”
“Get on with what?”
John tilted his head. “You’ve never acted this way before.”
“In your hallucinations?” Clay asked for clarification. “How does it usually go?”
“Lots of yelling, upset remarks, blame anger, etc. Guilt. Not you but me, obviously.”
That wasn’t obvious to Clay.
“Then you usually spout out how much you hate me and I just laugh.”
Clay’s stomach dropped. “Laugh?”
“Of course.”
“Why would you laugh?”
“Because you could never hate me as much as I hate myself.”
Clay sucked in a breath. “I don’t hate you.”
John looked mildly surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. Clay wondered how many times John’s mind had told him that, using Clay’s face.
“Do you miss me?”
John snorted again. “That is a dumb question.”
Clay tried not to look hurt. “You used to tell me there was no such thing as dumb questions.”
“There isn’t. Except for that one. Well… except another one too but you haven’t asked me that one. I’m grateful for that.”
“What is the other dumb question?”
“Asking if I love you.”
Clay blinked. He had never really thought to ask that. No matter how much answer and resentment he held onto, for no matter how long, that never crossed his mind. And he was grateful for that. “I don’t need to ask a question I already know the answer to.”
He was pretty sure John was holding his breath. He was scared.
“I know you love me.”
And he let it out. “I do. Although I am a little surprised my brain is trying to assure me of that. That you know.”
“Do you think you have enough sticks?”
“Are you sticking along? Sometimes Pete is an ass about it.”
“About what?”
“The hallucinations.”
Oh right. John didn’t know he was real. “I won’t be obnoxious.”
He sighed. “Well, I can’t get rid of my guilty conscious so whatever.”
#can you guys believe I spend my day giving people their bills?#and just kinda jot down stuff like this?#like where does it come from? why does it happpen???#why is this all so weird??#idk man it just is#it probably makes no sense#but I write shit sometimes and throw it into the internet void
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@angelowl-fics I wasn't sure anyone wanted to see more of that one! But I do have more of it.
I'll give you the first chunk of the next chapter.
Years ago, when the New Times were just beginning, Jaime Lannister thought he knew what Hell was. Hell was a place, and he was living in it. A world actively falling apart around him, masses of people dying, the Old Times so clear and recent in his memory that if he closed his eyes he could still see it, could almost reach out and touch it just beyond his fingertips. When he opened his eyes, the Old Times would dissolve nauseatingly into the New Times, into broken plates and empty pipes and the stench of death all around him. Everything was ruined, and nothing mattered, and there was nothing left to lose. That was Hell, or so he thought.
In a way, he had thrived in it, his own idea of Hell. He had been talented and reckless and better to rule in hell than serve in heaven, et cetera. It didn’t matter what he did, so he could do whatever he wanted. Be whoever he wanted. It was terrible and lonely and worst of all it was fun, and to avoid feeling bad about the fun of it he did it all more.
That was a younger man. Impossibly younger. Older than the foolish boy he had been in the Old Times, but not by much. Nihilism is only fun for the young. After a while it’s exhausting to maintain. You can’t step in the same room twice without leaving some impression there, or carrying some part of it with you, and sooner or later you are out of new places anywhere within reach, and you wear yourself out trying not to accidentally mean something.
Anyway, he was wrong. Hell is when everything matters. Absolutely everything. Every action laden with meaning and portent. Every place infested with memory, with ghosts. Every thing reminding you of some other thing, pulling on some other nerve until one of them crackles with pain. All connected, in a terrible web of grief and loss. And superimposed over all of it is Her. The ghost of Her, burned onto the retina of his missing right eye like a still frame.
Hell is a unit of time. This minute, and the minute after that, and the minute after that. A long and agonizing stretch of minutes and hours and days in a world without Her. It is a unit of time to the power of itself and it will never end.
He carries his Hell into the Black Mountains over a road that is more of a memory of a road. There is asphalt trapped somewhere under layer upon layer of ice, but no longer visible to the eye. It is a smooth incline surrounded by craggy and jagged angles and it is not much easier than the bare snow to walk on but probably not going to lead him over a cliff, and that is good enough for this journey. For certain no vehicle has passed this way in a long time, maybe not since the Before time.
It leads him between two mountains, one peaked and white with snow and one flat-topped, black as onyx. He struggles for purchase on the ice even with the boots Jon Snow had given him that were made for just this kind of journey. The metal cleats grip nicely through the snow and the grittier ice, but as he ascends the ice goes mirror smooth and it takes much longer to be sure of his steps. If he does not watch himself he will find himself sliding backwards, and then only the collapsible ice axe will stop him descending helplessly down the way he came.
It takes great mental and physical effort to ascend, and he is grateful all the way for the occupation of his attention. His skin slicks with sweat and his mind focuses so strongly on his shivering steps that hours slip past him without notice. Hours that he would have had to wade through like sticky mud otherwise, heavy with grief.
In the night the wind is strong enough to sail him down the mountain all on its own, and he has to wedge himself into a rock face and bunker down for the night. Those hours are more difficult, and much slower.
The nights are always the worst. Others don’t sleep. If anything, they prefer the nights for the cold and the darkness. It is suspected that they can see in the dark, though obviously there is no way to prove it.
The worst thing, in the early days, was thinking about all the people you could remember from the old world, and imagining where they ended up. Alive? Dead? Or Other? Is your first grade teacher a frozen corpse right now, gnawing on someone’s arm? Is she trapped in a house or a car or a grocery store somewhere, surrounded by monsters? Did she escape somehow over the sea? Or is she in a landfill, burned to ashes with a thousand others? What about your first crush? Your grandmother? Your best friend? There was no way to check back then, the Lists were not yet circulated. The internet was patchy and then gone. There were newspapers of a sort, hand copied, printed and posted to telephone poles, but those too did not last.
When you looked at the Others in their endless wandering, or rushing straight at you, did you recognize any of those faces? Sometimes he thought so. Sometimes at night, he would think back over the frozen skin, the hair color, the clothes, and wonder if someone felt familiar, if they might have been a neighbor or a coworker once.
That was the early days, when it was not yet clear that the Others were not a temporary disaster but a permanent condition. They slowly became a feature of the landscape, like weather - something you could forecast and sound the alarm for, like tornados or hurricanes. They would learn to predict them, avoid them, if not prevent them. After the first year, you didn’t look at their faces anymore. They were all the same face, anyway: blue, frozen.
Many things had been tried -- trapping them, negotiating with them. For awhile they thought bunkering down would allow the things to simply decompose. Stay in your bunkers, the authorities said, don’t let them turn us and eventually they will be gone. But it was too slow. Maybe if they weren’t frozen, their dead limbs would have rotted right off and rendered them harmless -- but they are well-preserved in their cold. They could not heal from injury, and that alone would reduce their numbers slowly over time. But the living would run out of provisions faster than that.
Killing them was both simple and difficult. Anything less than destroying their brain or their spine will slow them down, maybe, but they don’t die. In a big crowd you can hack off their legs so they can’t chase you, but they’ll go on crawling after that, possibly forever. And eventually, after dragging themselves around for years and years, that same creature might come upon some poor soul sleeping or trapped somewhere and wrap his cold hands around their throat. Better to kill them if you can.
(But what does killing even mean, for dead things?)
He’s had a lot of time to think it over since those days. He must have struck down nearly a thousand of them, during his career on the Kingsroad. A thousand monsters who were once people. But he didn’t kill them. They were already dead. They were Death itself reaching out through dead hands to claim more lives. That was the only will at work, the only thing the Others hungered for. More death. More dead things.
The Stranger must have gotten tired of waiting for people to die the slow way. He was ending his career all at once, in a grand finale, clearing out all of the lives in Westeros for good so that he could hang up his hat and try some other line of work.
It’s as plausible an explanation as he’s ever heard, for what has happened to the world.
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'aside from all these things, i'm going to need a new helmet'
[traditional sketch below]
#art#my art#artists on tumblr#digital art#traditional art#oc#pink space#☯w☯#i just think he's neat#[points] it's the Hidden!! woooghgh :3 :DD#//anyway i used a very soft brush for probably the first time ever and uuuruggggeee#mm. not a 10 outta 10 experience i'll tell you hvbshf#i missed using the paint bucket like usual hbsh#also geez what a pain overall lol#//i don't now why the pic turned out so funkin orange but oh wells hfvsfh#also i don't know where half those graphite smudges came from. they were. not there before#//OH listen i've been reading about the chisholm trail (neat stuff (a lil boring but eh :>)) and i actually made my first au for this#project hbvfhs- and yea of course it was wild west why not loll#i've got a flighty unorganized outlaw and a disgraced crossdressing deputy and a dead doctor's misanthropic daughter and some guy??? yea :D#i love them so much hbfhs#but i prolly won't post about it a lot cuz. well i dunno hfsh#i just thought it was neato so :>> :DD#//anyway omw to post in other places hhhhfhvs#ciao ciao see you somewhere else from now !!
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god DAMN it.
just cried over satosugu for the first time.
#meow.//#satosugu#i literally haven't felt that much about them (still enough y'know) to cry but all of a sudden??? wtf???#i just cried bc i related them to that one song (christmas kids by roar) and omfg. why does it hurt so much. i thought i could live in PEAC#like. i didn't have to suffer through the pain but nooooo NO ONE IS SPARED.#“you'll change your name or change you mind”#“and leave this fucked up place behind”#“But i'll know”#HISSINg. GROWLING. SOBS#geto literally changed his mind though (thanks kenjaku)#the animatic ideas are swirling in my brain like toilet when i flush the black and white beta fish#BECAUSE THEY'RE BBOTH FUCKING DEAD#jjk#banging my head on the wall please help me save me from this torture. I didn't know gays could hurt me so much. they're tearing me apart#like that one emo werewolf picture that's a meme. that's me but with satosugu atm guys. i'm so sorry for the tag rants. it's like a pigsty#if you follow me i need you to know that i'm not okay and you should stop that immediately because i'm swirling into the abyss#i'm like a melting ice cream from the ice cream truck that they hand you and it gets all over your hands and drips onto the ground#leaving a trail of ice cream drops behind you as you walk away; the music of the truck fading into the distance as your realise#this ice cream SUCKS.#i'm so sorry#south talks too much#irls if you see this i need you to slap me the next time you see me and i'm dead serious.
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good lord a lady wants to run a 5K on our trails with dogs AND people (not canicross) and has zero dog sport experience. This should go well.
#dogblr#anyways if you wanna do an IFSS sanctioned canicross hit me up lmao#like i had to actually speak in a meeting like:#you do not know anything about the safety logistics for including dogs so let's not#considering this is a public hiking trail network#with constant off leash dogs#no considerations for what if dogs overheat#no considerations of if dogs may pull their handlers over and injure them on the declines of hilles#no considerations of what required safety equipment the dog should wear (no running on collars....)#like bruh. i get the sentiment#but you do not want dogs getting hurt in a race that's a memorial for your dead dog
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I have to stop getting attached to characters that only exist in one (1) item description
#misc.txt#(this post is about finlay)#not to be cringe but the trope of 'loyal soldier devoted to their leader until their dying breath' does things to me#like#regardless of what route she took or if maybe there were secret tunnels or whatever#caelid to the haligtree is a long long LONG way to carry an unconscious demigod#let alone one that just exploded with rot. and ik that the cleanrot knights are already rotting but#I feel like carrying malenia in that state for that long would probably be a bit like sitting directly on the chernobyl elephant's foot#I'd imagine she must have died shortly after making it there#the sheer exhaustion would have been enough#do you think she was even fully conscious by the time they arrived#do you think she was aware that she'd made it#do you think she died satisfied knowing that her duty was fulfilled#do you think she looked back at the trail of rot through the tree behind them#for angst reasons#I like to think she collapsed as soon as she made it to malenia's arena. a rotted shell locked in place on its knees still holding her#after just. marching mile after mile after mile#with everything else eventually rotting away except for one singular purpose that kept her going when she should have been long dead-#-until they made it somewhere safe and then she knew it was ok to go#I'm extrapolating a lot of headcanon from like 2 sentences but FUCK
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𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃? 𝐈’𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒, 𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹
prisoner! sukuna x psychologist! reader
✧ synopsis: you’ve been assigned to the supposed most ‘dangerous’ prisoner, sukuna. but what happens when you two start to fall for each other instead?
✧ cw: smut, quick paced, semi public sex, risky sex, choking, kissing, pussy eating, blow jobs, breeding, creampie, fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, age gap
✧ wc: 4.7k
✧ a/n: i am not a doctor and i am especially not specialized in psychology. i have made up all of this. also don’t sleep with murderers unless it’s sukuna
Your heels clicked loudly on the stained prison tiles. The echo of your soft footsteps trailing along the narrow walls of the enclosed hallway.
Sukuna.
That was the prisoner you were assigned to. A man who had killed more people than you’d met in your entire life as a doctor, a psychologist at that. So you’d met a lot of people.
Two guards trailed closely behind you, glaring warningly at the inmates who smirked as you walked past the line of cells. A collection of whistles and cheers sounding at the mere sight of a woman as attractive as yourself.
How long had it been since they’d seen one after all.
“Hey Doc… you sure you wanna take this case.. i mean, i don’t doubt ya or anything but this one.. he’s bad. Dangerous.”
“Now what kind of doctor would i be if i feared a little danger. He’s still a patient.” You smiled, ignoring the way your hairs stood as you were led deeper into the institution. The part where they held those deemed a danger to society.
Those who had a no chance of even seeing sunlight again.
You were nervous, your heart thumping loudly in your chest when you scanned your surroundings. There weren’t any cells. There were only.. rooms. Fully enclosed rooms with a singular window for passing food.
Every part of your being begged for you to turn around and run. To not even interact with whoever sat on the other side of that door. And you froze when bright red eyes pierced into yours. The rest of his face casted behind a dark shadow as his head tilted back. Giving you sight to the small smirk creeping onto his features.
“Doc, i really think that-” It was the other guard who spoke up. Both of them holding nothing on their features but fear. It was clear that they never even bothered with Sukuna. The rumors had been enough to make every guard turn a blind eye.
“Hey, it’s fine. Okay? This is what i do.” It really was. The guard gave you a curt nod and a sigh when you clasped both his hands in your smaller one. Offering him a reassuring nod.
“If anything happens, us and about five others are stationed close. Good luck Doc.”
You gave him a small thanks, your head held high as the door was pulled open roughly. Revealing a pink haired man who sat on his bed against the walls, his eyebrow raising when you dared to step inside. Nodding to the guard to close the door.
You might as well have been a dead woman.
“You’re scared.” His deep voice rung out, keeping his eyes on you as you pulled out a small chair that was tucked away near the sink.
“And how do you know, Sukuna?” Your tone was steady, letting out a breath when the shakiness you felt wasn’t reflected in your voice.
Sukuna hummed, his smirk widening when you spoke to him like a normal being. To stuttering, no harshness. Just your sweet voice saying his name. “I can smell it, Doc.” He loved the way you tried to hide your squirm under his gaze.
“So, Sukuna. Tell me something about yourself.” You steered away from his accusation, holding eye contact even when he leaned forward. Taking you in from head to toe. You were hot, he liked that. You seemed to like being confident too. And God did you smell fucking delicious.
He wanted to eat you alive.
Break you.
Use you.
He really did. But you were so fascinating, and he’d only just met you. Who knew how entertaining you could be.
“I’ve killed people.” He was blunt, eyes almost begging you to keep asking these ridiculous questions. It was making his cock twitch.
“Well Sukuna, that is common knowledge, don’t ya think? I wanna know something else.. tell me a secret hmm?” You leaned forward with a smile, elbows rested on your knees as you looked to him for a response.
He reciprocated your actions, leaning forward until you felt his hot breath fan over your face. “A secret huh? Alright Doc..” he watched as your breathing sped up, using every strength in your body to not pull back. You were brave, he liked that. “I surprisingly don’t wanna kill you right now.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“I said right now, didn’t say anything about later.” He pushed away from you, one of his knees up to his chest when he leaned back against the concrete wall behind him. “Let me ask you, Doctor. Are you stupid?”
Your head tilted at where this was going. You were supposed to be the one asking the questions. But a conversation was two sided, this would’ve made things easier. “I’d like to believe not. Why do you ask?”
“Because you really think that if i try to kill you, some measly guards would come to your rescue.” He scoffed.
“But you don’t want to kill me. That’s all that matters.”
Fair.
Sukuna watched as you took a quick peek down at his files. There was something that you missed, that much was evident. “Finally found it huh?”
“I haven’t found anything that i didn’t see before.” You objected, glancing to the door with your lip hanging loosely between your teeth.
“Don’t. Don’t do that.” He demanded lowly, watching with lidded eyes as you let your plump bottom lip, slick after running your tongue over it, fall back into place. Sukuna breathed deeply, finally looking away from you as he swallowed hard. Closing his eyes with his head rested behind him.
There was something about you that he wanted a taste of. It was driving him crazy..er, “I never did anything to these other doctors. They were just weak. Got scared way too fast.”
“And what did you do to scare them away?”
“Nothing.” He spat, “They came in here acting all high and mighty, talked to me like i was beneath them. So i simply didn’t bother to hide how much i wanted to strangle them. And somehow that makes me the bad guy right Doc?”
You shook your head, “No, you have a right to respect too. They should never have treated you as unequals.” Lying was all in the job description.
“Good try Doc. But you and i both know that’s a load of crap.” He finally peeled his eyes back open, and you couldn’t help your mind from wandering to how attractive he was in the dim light. He was extremely built, and had the facial structure that made you clench your thighs. “Now, we gonna finish our game of twenty one questions or not?”
He was actually being cooperative.
“Yes we are. How about i start?”
“I’ll start.” There was no room for objection in his tone. “What’s your name?”
You contemplated whether to tell him or not, eventually letting it out with ease. Though you missed the small smile tugging at his lips when he muttered a small “cute.”
“My turn, what was your childhood like?” You watched his face grow cold, a small glare being directed at anything in the room but you. “Next question.”
“Sukuna..”
“I said next question. How old are you?”
You sighed, “I’m twenty eight.” His eyes widened, that was extremely young for a doctor. “Is there one good memory you have from before you killed for the first time?”
“I had twin kittens. Do you have a boyfriend?”
You were taken aback by the question, mouth opening and closing a few times before you chuckled. “No. I do not have a boyfriend.”
“Good.”
You jumped when the door was yanked open, the guard eyeing Sukuna warily before nodded to you. “Your time’s up, Doc.”
“Oh, already? Could we get just a few more minutes?”
“You know how dangerous he is Doc.. we can’t risk it.”
“You heard the man. I’m dangerous, Doctor.”
You nibbled at your lips softly, and Sukuna fought a groan as you did exactly what he warned you not to. Standing up, you gave Sukuna a warm smile, the gesture making his stomach get all weird inside. “Goodbye until our next session Sukuna.”
He only hummed, the door being shut behind you as you were led away.
It was back to darkness.
There was more than enough light, sure. But it suddenly felt so empty without you there.
—
You couldn’t keep Sukuna off your mind when you arrived home. A part of you just really wanted to figure him out. The other actually liked his company.
You must’ve been so sick in the head. Splashing your face with cold water as you mentally scolded yourself. What was wrong with you? He was a criminal.
—
The next morning you walked the path that you had taken the previous day to get to Sukuna. This time without the guards following you.
There was only one who stood outside of the door to let you in with a small nod of acknowledgement.
Sukuna’s head perked up at the familiar clicking of those heels you wore. His signature smirk on his face as he stared you down. “Just couldn’t get enough huh Doc? Aren’t you forgetting that i’m dangerous?”
You took a seat, no file in had this time. “Good morning Sukuna, how are you?”
“If i said better now that you’re here, would that be cliché?”
You laughed, an actual laugh. A sweet one that made his heart flutter the tiniest bit while blood rushed to his groin.
“It’s very good to see you too. How about we get started yeah?” You paused as you collected your thoughts. “You seem to be heavily affected by people calling you.. dangerous. Why?”
“Everybody is dangerous. It just takes pushing at the right buttons to get it out of them. Half of the people here have done just as bad as i have yet i’m the only dangerous one. Makes so much sense right?.”
He shook his head. “Tell me Doctor, do you really think i just happened to get caught? That i couldn’t get out of this damn place if i wanted too? Hell, tell me you realize that i could drop a good twenty more bodies right here, right now.”
You shifted in your seat. “I think that you let yourself get caught because you’re tired. Because there’s a small sense of peace you get from being in here. And i think that you aren’t trying to leave because you don’t want to.”
“You almost had it Doc. See, i was well on my way out until you came. So i might stick around for just a little bit longer.”
Your heart fluttered, for you? Giving up on fighting the rational side of you as you continued to engage in conversation. Getting Sukuna to slowly open up to you more.
“Do you have any friends Sukuna?”
“I don’t consider people friends. They just exist alongside me.”
“If I asked you to be your friend, what would you say?” It was routine, but you really were curious.
“I’d say you came be whatever you want to be Doc.”
Another flutter.
“Have you ever been in love Sukuna?”
He was silent, jaw clenching as his gaze got harsh. “Next question.”
“What was she like?”
“I said next fucking question Doctor.”
“And i said, what was she like?” You leaned forward, pressing for him to answer the question.
“You’re stubborn aren’t you? I wonder what my hand would loom like around that pretty little neck.” He grinned, sharp teeth peeling from beneath his lips as he brought his face to yours. “She was a lot like you.”
“What happened to her?” You knew how touchy that question would’ve been.
“Nothing. The bitch left.”
Oh.
“I’m sorry.”
He stared at you in confusion, “I never said she died.”
“Yes. But that’s only physically. When she broke your heart she died to you. And that hurts just as bad.”
He was silent, studying your eyes. Trying to get a read on you. “What else do you want to know Doc?”
You were getting somewhere.
Sukuna found you smart. Thought that you knew a lot. Found it hot how good you were at cracking him. But it pissed him off that the one thing you didn’t seem to pick up was how much it hurt to watch you leave at the end of each session.
—
A week later had led to a Monday morning where you hadn’t gone to the prison. You had quite an agenda for the day that could cost you your job if you didn’t get it done.
That was something Sukuna was obviously clueless about. It was why he thought you’d just decided to up and go after he had just started liking to have you around. After he’d started opening up to you.
It was also why he was causing a fit. Yelling at guards to get you to him now. That he wanted to see you. Needed to see you. A line of men laying knocked out atop each other from being sent to ‘handle’ the crazed prisoner.
Would you really not come back? Would you really abandon him? It seemed like that was common with the people he cared even the slightest for.
Sukuna’s fist met the wall near his bed, knuckles bloodied as he cracked into the hard surface. Chest heaving up and down heavily when his hands reached to tug at strands of pink.
He blinked when he heard the clicking of heels on the tiles. Immediately scowling at the unfamiliarity of them. “Who the fuck is this?” He growled through the small window.
“This is Dr Smith, she’s-”
“I don’t fucking care who she is. Bring me my doctor. Now.”
—
Back at your flat, you dropped the piles of paper in front of you at the sound of your phone ringing.
It was a number you didn’t have saved.
“Hello, Doctor ___ speaking- yes? Oh my. I- i am so sorry. Yes, i will be there right away.”
What had you done?
You practically ran through the halls after parking outside the building. Finding many guards posted outside his door with guns in hand. Some of them spotting very black and blue eyes.
“You can all go now.” You panted, it was clear that you had been in a hurry. “Please.”
They all shared a look, finally walking away and allowing you to slowly open the door.
“Where were you?”
“I’m really sorry Sukuna. I was so busy today and-” you gasped when a hand reached out to wrap around your neck. Slamming you into the wall behind you with his face buried in your neck.
Sukuna inhaled your floral scent, groaning to himself as his grip on your delicate skin tightened. “So you just left me here today? Am i not as important as your other little patients? Is that it hmm?”
Deep down, you had hurt his feelings. And he couldn’t help the way he clung to you as your hand lifted to his cheek. Turning his face to look down at yours.
“N-no i promise you. You’re just as important as anyone else. I would have never missed our session if i didn’t have to.”
“Make it up to me.”
It was the perfect opportunity.
“W-what?”
“Strip for me Doctor.” He let go of your neck, letting you catch your breath while looking up at him timidly.
“Sukuna..”
“Why so shy now doctor? We both know you want to.”
You shook your head, shrinking under his gaze with a protesting whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Sukuna. This is very unprofession— ahh.”
Sukuna brought his knee up between your thighs, pressing it into your clothed clit. His lips ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning your skin as he breathed deeply. “You can always leave if you want to. I’m used to that after all.”
You shifted on your feet when your back arched. A small whine leaving your mouth when he pulled away from you and gestured to the door.
He smirked, “Blouse first.”
You bit your lip, unbuttoning your shirt until your bra was on display. The heavy swell of your breasts causing Sukuna’s mouth to water when he nodded to the bra.
With your eyes still on his you let your breasts spring out of their confinement. Two pert nipples pointing right at him as his dick rose. His hand palming himself under the pair of black pants with a shiver. “C’mere.”
You walked over to him on shaky legs. Sitting down on his lap with your head to the floor. “Uh uh,” His hand reached under the your chin to force your eyes back on his. “None of that Doc.”
You moaned when his tongue swirled around one of your nipples. Sucking your breast into his mouth while he palmed at the other. “These are even more perfect outside that tight fucking shit of yours.”
Sukuna watched as you shivered when he ran his finger down your belly. Cupping your clothed cunt with the jerk of his hips into your ass. “Fuck.. take that off.”
You hurriedly peeled off your pants, Sukuna’s pupils dilating at the sight of your lace panties. “Wore this just f’me hmm Doc? All this for Mr Dangerous.” He groaned out.
Sukuan didn’t give you a chance to respond before flipping you onto the hard mattress they called a bed. Lifting your heel clad feet onto his shoulders with his head hovering over your pussy. His tongue darting out to lick at the wet spot building from your arousal. “You’re real dirty f’ a doctor.” He teased, glancing behind him with a chuckle. “Imagine if you got caught.”
Your eyes shot up to the small window, taking note of the vacant corridor as per your request.
“God, you smell so fucking good. Wanna devour that pretty pussy.” He breathed, large hand ripping the flimsy fabric to expose your glistening folds. “Hmm, this wet all for me.”
You mewled when his long tongue licked a stripe up your slit. Swirling around your clit before sloppily dipping into your hole. His hums sending vibrations through your clit as he lapped at your dripping slick.
“Sukuna—” you mewled, back arching as you reached for his hair. Tugging softly with the curl of your toes when his tongue and fingers swapped places. The two joints fucking up roughly into your g spot as he sucked noisily at your clit. “F-fuckk, nngh— so good.” You cried out, tears welling in the corner of your eyes as your body filled with pleasure.
“Yeah? You like that Doc? Bet you wanna get that greedy cunt stuffed right after.” He grunted, your eyes rolling back in a string of muffled moans as your other hand shot up to your lips.
Your legs began to tremble, Sukuna’s smirk growing wider and wider until he stopped his movements. Watching as you blinked down at him with a sniffled whine.
“You left me. You know how much that fucking hurt? I thought i would never see you again.”
“I’m-”
“You’re sorry. Yeah, yeah.. i know.” He rolled his eyes, crawling over your body with a sigh. Using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a stray tear before pressing his lips to yours. Making you taste yourself on his tongue.
You fell deeper into the kiss, eyes closing in satisfaction as his lips moves hungrily on yours. Pulling away with a string of salvia connected you to him.
“Let’s reverse the roles yeah?” He whispered, standing up to sit in the chair that you usually sat in. “So, my adorable little patient.. put these tiny fingers to work on that clit of yours. I want you to make yourself cum.”
You whimpered, your fingers immediately meeting your sensitive clit with a shiver.
“You know what to do.” He encouraged. Your fingers beginning to rub small circles on the small bud before speeding up. Little gasps and moans falling past your lips as your stomach burned with heat.
Your eyes locking onto Sukuna’s red ones as his head tilted. Just like it had the first day you met him. “Ahh, K-kuna. Fuckk.” You cried, head falling back with your eyes still on his. The primal look in his eyes making your insides flutter as he did nothing but watch you. Not even freeing his painfully hard cock.
“Sukuna— c-can’t. Can’t hold it.” Your voice cracked, body shaking lightly as your orgasm washed over you.
“Yes you can.”
“Nngh, can’t Kuna. Need to let go.”
He stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity, your breathing getting heavy as you desperately waited on his permission.
He leaned his head back, eyes boring into your fingers working your wet cunt before nodding. “Go ahead.”
You came with a silent moan, body spasming uncontrollably as your pussy leaked onto his only pair of sheets.
“Dirty, dirty girl. Look at that mess.” You shied away feom his gaze. “And look at how hard you made me. Come fix it.”
You stood on wobbly feet, barely able to balance in your heels as you fell to your knees before him. Looking up at him through your lashes while pulling down his pants.
You blinked at the mere size of his bulge. He was huge. Tugging off his underwear to reveal his thick, veiny length. Pointing up to the sky with a fiery red tip. “Suck.”
You took him past your lips, barely able to take even half of him before he hit the back of your throat. Your fist stroking all the parts of him you couldn’t take.
Sukuna groaned, head flinging back with another strained one at how good your mouth felt. “S-shit doc. You really got a mouth on ya.” He gasped, eyes meeting yours as you attempted to take him down your throat. Your drool coating both your lips and his cock as you lewdly sucked him off.
He took your head into his hold, letting you do your own thing as he grunted with each jerk of his hips. Defined abs tensing when he grew closer to his release.
“Fuck Doc, gon’ shoot my cum down that tight throat of yours.” He breathed. Holding you down onto him as you gagged and sputtered lightly, Sukuna’s cock twitching before you felt the warm liquid run down your throat.
“Wish i could fuck that pussy so bad.” He let go of your head, wiping a drop of his cum from your chin before pushing his finger past your lips. Watching as you sighed in content while sucking every last drop. “It’s too bad that in about one minute those guards are gonna come get you Doc. Our session is over.”
You had no time to question how he knew. Scurrying to redress with widened eyes.
Sukuna may not have had a clock. Nor was he able to distinctly see the sun rise and set. But he’d learned to count the seconds when you were around. He knew how much time he had with you.
“And… now.”
At that very moment the door swung open. Sukuna having easily pulled back up his pants after giving you your seat back. Both of you looking as professional as you possibly could.
“See you tomorrow Doc.” He smiled innocently, watching as you scrambled out while avoiding his eyes.
You really fucked up now.
It was hard to keep him out of your mind before. But now, trying was futile. You’d gotten a taste and you needed more. Which was why your brain would not let you close your eyes without thinking of him fucking you.
—
The next morning you bit back a whimper as your clit was caught between your rubbing thighs. You had worn a tight pencil skirt with no panties. Just for Sukuna.
You were thankful that the guards had complied to your wishes of them leaving.
You wanted to stop yourself. To go back home and forget about the red eyed prisoner. He may not have been dangerous to you physically. But to your heart and mind.. he’d be the death of you.
When the door closed behind you, you found yourself bring pushed roughly into the same wall as last time. Sukuna letting out an animalistic groan as he captured your lips on his. Kissing you so much more feverishly than yesterday.
“You don’t know how much i need you. Didn’t even sleep last night.” He panted, turning you around so that your chest rested against the concrete surface. “Missed you so much Doc.” His voice softened, kissing down your neck while grinding up into you. His fingers finding their way under your skirt with a smirk against your skin. “And i thought you couldn’t get any dirtier.. no panties huh?”
You moaned when he prodded at your already dripping cunt. The thought of him being enough to have gotten you soaked. “Shit- tell me what you want Doc. Let me hear you say it.” He growled lowly, ready to snap the second the words left your mouth.
“Please— please fuck me.”
Sukuna hungrily shoved your skirt up. The fabric bunching at your hips as he freed his aching cock. Both of you letting out a noise of satisfaction when he sunk into you, his large hands holding tightly onto your hips to pull you into him. Your back arching as your hands shot out to the wall for support.
“O-ohh God.” You cried loudly, your lips parted in shaky moans as Sukuna’s cock rammed deep near the entrance of your cervix. His veins grazing at your g spot as the fat girth stretched you to your limit.
“Nah baby, ‘s only me.”
“Kunaa— so goood- ahhh.” Tears pooled in your eyes, Sukuna’s hand reaching into your hair to pull you back into his chest. Your nails clawing at the wall in front of you as he destroyed yours.
“Taking me so fucking well. Shit- pussy’s so damn snug.” He husked, hips snapping noisily into yours as he fucked into your walls mercilessly. Basking in the sounds of your choked screams and mewls. The way you sobbed underneath him when your knees buckled.
He was fucking you so hard and deep. Better than anything you’d felt before. His cock slamming into all the places that would drive you crazy.
“The day you fucking leave me i will break outta here Doc. And i will find you. You’re mine got it?” There was a certain seriousness in his voice that made goosebumps arise on your skin. Your salty tears mixing with your drool as they ran down your flushed face.
“And when i do get outta here you’re gonna have my baby Doc. ‘M gonna fuck you again and again till’ i eventually give you my fuck—ing kid.” His breathing became ragged, your body rocking forward with each of his movements.
He smirked. “I’ve fucked ya this dumb already?” His cock twitching inside you as your body moved with his cock like a fleshlight. Your vision blurred as your head grew light, dizzy. You couldn’t think, every roll of Sukuna’s hips clouding your mind as you let an incoherent babble drip off your tongue. Shakily chanting his name when he reached forward to pinch at your clit.
“Look at you. Look so pretty underneath me like this.” His free hand snaked up to your neck, groaning loudly at the feeling of your heart beat on his skin. Pulling you up so your back rested flat against his broad chest, wandering lips meeting your exposed collarbone. “Let go f’me.”
Your body quivered as you tightened around him. Letting out a whimper-like cry as you came messily on his cock. A breathy moan of his own sounding in your ear when his thrusts began to get sloppy.
“Kunaaa.. inside. Want you inside. ‘M on the pill.” You begged, legs giving way as he held you flush against him.
“Whatever you want, Doc.” Slowly coming to a halt as he buried himself inside your warmth, tongue darting out to lick at your tear stained cheeks. Feeling his cock swell as he pumped you full of his cum. Painted your gummy walls in nothing but white
“Looks like i’m sending you back with my cum dripping down your thighs.” He pulled out with a grin. His cum leaking out of your fluttering cunt in small spurts when he used his hands to knead at the flesh of your ass. “Hottest thing i’ve seen in a while.. after you of course.”
You hummed, eyes shutting as you fell into him. Feeling the thick substance slowly dripping down your legs while spreading over your sticky folds. Sukuna stumbled back onto his bed with you on top of him. Your face nestling into his chest with a soft smile. “Hey Doc.. i love ya but those guards are gon’ be back soon.”
‘So worth it.’ Was the one thought branding itself into your mind as your body registered the rough, lust filled fuck.
“Shit.”
—
You and Sukuna had gotten so much closer over yet another week. You had never believed in falling in love that quickly until now. You couldn’t help it. You felt so much better when he was around. Seeing him was the highlight of your day- especially now that you’d convinced for longer sessions.
He felt the same way. You were the second person he had fallen in love with and somehow even harder. You made his heart.. swell. And he was serious about busting out to start a life with you.
“So, your first love. We never finished talking about her.” You smirked, notepad back in hand as you did your job. Sukuna having been stealing small kisses from you between every question.
“How about we forget about my first love and focus on my current one. You.”
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